


and you must keep your soul (like a secret in your throat)

by thiccbuckybarnes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always a happy ending here folks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Captain America Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, College Student Bucky Barnes, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More specifically Steve wants to be Bella but i mean... who doesnt, Non-Graphic Violence, Steve is Team Cullen, Suicidal Ideation, Touching Dicks, Vampire Bucky Barnes, blood play but only to the extent that bloodsucking is sexy??, self harm (starvation), vampire porn??, weird vampire voodoo mind magic, young vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiccbuckybarnes/pseuds/thiccbuckybarnes
Summary: Steve feels the prickle up his spine, immediately knows that eyes are on him but he can't tell from where. He pauses from his walk back from the bodega two blocks from home, holding the brown grocery bag close to his chest, the paper crinkling under his grip.He debates whether to engage, whether to turn andlook,but the ice trickling down his back, raising goosebumps on his forearms, stops him.--Or, Steve thinks he's being haunted, but he's actually being hunted.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 80
Kudos: 149





	1. And if they get me and the sun goes down into the ground

**Author's Note:**

> wellllllll hello hello and welcome to my life spiraling out of control! happy to have you
> 
> is it too late to jump on the vampire train?? yes?? here is this fic anyway
> 
> For a full description of the heavier tags, please see the end notes ( **warning: end notes contains spoilers!** ). Additional tags will be added, but they will be of the sexy kind. Chapters are outlined as a total of 8 but they may be subject to change if plot bunnies get away from me.
> 
> Title from Vampires Will Never Hurt You by My Chemical Romance.

He knows exactly when it starts.

It's dark—darker than it normally is on a weekday evening in the summer. Almost supernaturally so, if Steve didn't know better.

Steve feels the prickle up his spine, immediately knows that eyes are on him but he can't tell from where. He pauses from his walk back from the bodega two blocks from home, holding the brown grocery bag close to his chest, the paper crinkling under his grip.

He debates, whether to engage, whether to turn and _look,_ but the ice trickling down his back, raising goosebumps on his forearms, stops him. 

Instead Steve turns his head just so, eyes methodically scanning the empty street before him. A haunting rustle blows through the trees across the street, the wind moaning. And just as soon as it all settles into his bones—the fear of something there, something watching him, waiting for him, sinking into his skin—it's gone.

He exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding, hands loosening their tight grip on his shopping bag, and slowly turns to look behind him. The streets are empty, which is unusual for a Brooklyn street. But he doesn't question it, decides to leave whatever presence that was there well enough alone, and continues home.

It happens three more times over the course of the week: he's on a morning run through his neighborhood on a sunny morning; in the local mart with sunglasses on and a cap drawn low to hide his face the best he can; and most recently, he's on his bike heading towards the compound south of the city.

Each and every time, he gets that icy prickle at the back of his neck, stretching down his spine like someone is dripping an ice cube down his back. He can't explain it; he couldn't say whether someone was actually there or not, whether it was just his paranoia or if he was actually being watched.

Something was haunting him, but he didn't know what.

When he arrives at the compound, Sam and Natasha are there to greet him in the garage. He dismounts his bike and Natasha hands him the folder containing the intelligence on their latest mission; a warehouse in Detroit that appears to be a Hydra splinter cell. 

He sighs, scanning through the documents. Sometimes it feels hopeless, like these cells would never stop cropping up.

Almost like Sam is reading his mind, he claps Steve on the shoulder.

"C'mon, let's suit up. Tony brought bagels from that deli on 53rd, they're in the jet."

While eating an everything bagel with scallion cream cheese, flying over Lake Erie, Steve thinks that at least in Michigan, he won't be haunted.

~*~

He was right; there was no sudden chill in the air at any point of their infiltration of the warehouse. There were only two guards, who were subdued quickly and quietly.

Stark had JARVIS scan through all of the electronic files while he, Sam and Natasha pilfered through boxes of documents. After forty minutes of digging, they found relatively usable intel and made their way back to New York. 

Steve stays at the compound for three days, pouring over the intel they gathered. They don't find any new information on other cells or hideouts, and Steve relents to Sam's insistence that he should return home.

He's tired and irritated over the seemingly fruitless mission. When he pulls into his parking space, he climbs off his bike and reaches up to unfasten his helmet. Just as he pulls his helmet off his head, he's struck with that icy feeling of being watched.

He freezes; he had forgotten the feeling of it during his time away, but it's back with full force like he had never left. He curses the serum's heightened senses, because he's sure if he were a normal person, he wouldn't be able to feel eyes on him.

He realizes he's been standing there motionless for a moment, considering his options on what to do. He could ignore it, chalk it up to paranoia and just go inside. But he wonders to what extent this haunting will reach. Do they know where he lives? Can they get in his apartment?

He takes a chance and glances up, only to see the dimly lit parking garage that his apartment building is attached to. The distant sounds of the city echo, and a cool breeze blows through despite the warm summer.

He scans the space, seeing absolutely nothing worth the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. There's seemingly no threat.

A car driving up and past him breaks his reverie, and he decides to just go home and see if anything happens.

Nothing does.

He starts to think he's losing it. He becomes more on guard, thinking that if there was something watching him, it has to be Hydra or something equally bad. Or maybe it really is a ghost; maybe he's been cursed. Wouldn't be the first time, if one counts the fact that he's ageless in a time that isn't his own. 

It isn't until two weeks later that it happens again.

The Avengers are rarely called for anything other than a world crisis or something linked to Hydra, so he finds it odd when he gets the call to meet up at a cafe with Sam and Nat on a Thursday morning.

They're incognito and situated in the back, the place relatively empty and ensuring their privacy. Steve sits down with a paper cup full of the house medium drip when Natasha slides a manilla folder to his across the table.

He opens the folder up, taking a sip while his drink is still too hot, expecting something to do with Hydra or alien tech.

Instead he's faced with multiple photographs, bloody to hell and back.

"Jesus," Steve murmurs, squinting down at the picture. Natasha stirs her coffee and gestures to the short written report.

"Victim found yesterday with their neck practically torn out. There's blood all over the alley, a completely wiped mind, and no shred of evidence within the vicinity," she says as Steve looks through the photographs.

The victim's neck is, indeed, bloody past the point of recognition. It's a young man, face relaxed and eyes slightly open and spacey, mouth parted. He looks—almost blissful. Steve looks up at the two of them.

"He's still alive?" he asks, flabbergasted. Sam nods.

"Wild, isn't it? He was in surgery for five hours but yes, the damage wasn't irreparable. But the weirdest thing about all of it—" Sam says, and picks out one of the photos from the stack to show to Steve—"is this."

The picture is a close up of the cleaned flesh of the man's neck, presumably during surgery. There is clotted blood in places, and it's certainly gruesome to look at, but the peculiar thing about the picture is the rough and ridged texture of the wound.

"What am I looking at?" He wonders aloud, mesmerized by the strange wound. He squints harder, and just as he makes the connection, realizes what could have inflicted this kind of damage, Natasha speaks up. Her voice is quiet but her words spark something right and horrid up his spine.

"Teeth. Something used it's mouth to rip his neck open."

Steve looks up and stares at his two friends for several moments, deciding exactly what to say.

"What do we think did it?" he asks, eyes not able to stray from the brutal images for long. For some reason, he's transfixed by them; the gore of it, the brutality, and yet the man has somehow survived his neck being nearly ripped out.

"We're not sure, but it isn't human which is why we're on the case," Natasha supplies. 

Steve nods and riffles through the report and the pictures a bit more, squinting down at what little information they have. This is tricky, because they have such little evidence to go off of to stop something that appears very dangerous.

He thinks momentarily about bringing up the odd feeling of being watched he has experienced the last few weeks, but decides against it. His paranoia is not necessarily connected to this odd case. He'll have to wait and see how everything unfolds.

The following week is quiet—almost too quiet. He hasn't felt that tickle on his neck, no ice-cold feeling of being watched, and no new attacks that resemble anything close to a monster ripping people apart. 

The Avengers have a pressing matter to attend to in Lithuania, and it takes two weeks before they finish and come home. By the end of the mission, they're all tired and ready to sleep for three days straight. Steve is no better.

Upon their return, there's no new word of anymore attacks similar to the gruesome first one, to which Steve is thankful but frustrated that there's no new intelligence on the matter. He tries to relax at home after taking an abnormally long hot shower and cracking open a beer while melting into his couch.

He's got Top Chef on Hulu playing when he feels it again.

Ice. Goosebumps. He's in his own living room; his door is definitely locked and there's no one else here. He gets up cautiously, sets the bottle down gently on the coffee table, and does a slow spin as he clocks every corner of the living room.

Nothing.

He takes a careful tour around the apartment, checking closets and under furniture. Checking every possible nook and corner where something may be hiding.

Nothing.

Steve feels like he's going out of his mind. There's nothing here--nothing physical, anyway.

Maybe he really is being haunted. 

It's the only explanation for why the hairs on his body stand straight up, why he gets the sense he's being watched, scrutinized. There's no one here, just like there was no one on the street when he went shopping, no one in the parking garage, no way something could follow him through the city while he's on his bike.

He's being haunted. He has to be.

He's returning to the living room when he notices his blinds are part way open, and really he just glances out of the window out of habit. He expects to see the usual late afternoon sky with the tops of the surrounding buildings. He thinks nothing of it.

Until his eyes catch a shadowy figure, partially obstructed by a utility box on the roof of the building across from his apartment. His eyesight is perfect, but he still has to squint while his heart is thundering in his chest when he realizes the figure is staring at him.

They're dark, and he can't make out their face, but he's sure they're staring directly at him. The sun is setting behind him, so the figure is dark and shadowy, making them appear menacing. The familiar feeling of ice trickles down his spine again, and he realizes that he’s not being haunted at all.

He’s being _hunted._

He barely blinks and the figure is gone, and he’s left frantically scanning the tops of the roofs that he can see, trying to find an inkling of the figure. 

But there's nothing; just the familiar empty rooftops.

He takes a step back from the window, and has the sense enough to pull the curtains closed before heading straight to the door. He grabs his shield from where it usually sits in the hallway and makes sure his door is locked and his keys are in his pocket before heading to the roof.

He scours the tops of the surrounding buildings for two hours without seeing even a whisper of the figure.

Days go by, and Steve is becoming increasingly paranoid. He's starting to think that there is a definite connection between the attack and the figure that's been following him, but he isn't sure how to tell Natasha and Sam about it. The longer he waits, the more he doubts himself.

It's been two weeks now since he saw the figure on the roof, and three since the briefing on the victim who had their throat nearly torn out when he gets the call.

There's been another attack.

They get the call early enough that when they get to the scene, the victim is still there propped up against the wall of an alley. They're not exactly near a busy street, but there's enough foot traffic in the area that it's a wonder that this person was dragged into the alley and attacked without being seen.

The curious thing is that they're very much alive; it's a young man, maybe in his early twenties. He looks to be a college kid, and he's letting a SHIELD paramedic tend to his neck where he had been—well, _bitten._

"You gotta be shittin' me," is what Sam says when he sees the wound. He, Sam, and Natasha gather around the man, peering down at him as he looks up with a distant but happy look on his face.

He looks… well, high.

There are distinct bite marks on his neck; a few fingers below his ear, right near the artery. They're clear canine marks, though they're not clean; two impressive holes are bitten into his flesh, though they're slightly torn in one direction. Nothing nearly as gruesome as the first victim.

"Is that what I think it is?" Sam asks, pointing down at the guy's neck. The guy continues to look up at them with a dreamy expression.

Natasha crouches down, peering down at the marks with her fingers framing her chin like some sort of detective.

"How are you feeling?" she asks the victim. His soft, happy expression directs itself to her.

"Hey," he greets, sounding far away. "What's all this for me?" he asks, voice a little wobbly. Sam puts his face in his hands and groans. 

"Appears like whatever it is, it's getting better," Steve observes out loud, referring to the neater bite mark. The victim doesn't seem to be phased, just continues to zone out with a content face.

"Maybe he was drugged?" Sam suggests, leaning over next to Natasha to get a better look. Whatever happened, Steve's just thankful that the guy is alive and in seemingly better condition than the first guy.

"A possibility. Or maybe the bite has that effect. We know it's not human," Natasha adds.

This gets the guy's attention, and he looks up at them, the smile slipping off of his face.

"Don't hurt him," he says in a weak voice. The three of them frown, looking down at the guy who looks like they all collectively kicked him in the face.

"What? This thing attacked you. We need to find it and bring it in, buddy," Sam says. The victim just starts shaking his head frantically and leans forward, grabbing Sam's forearm.

"Don't hurt him, please don't hurt him. It's not his fault, he can't help it, he can't help--" Sam tries to shush him as he rambles on, edgy and worrisome. 

Steve sighs and takes a step back, allowing the paramedics to come forward. Natasha and Sam step aside with him, all with varying levels of concern on their faces.

"What the fuck was that?" Sam asks lowly, watching the victim get strapped up to the board while he continues pleading for them not to hurt whatever attacked him. "Maybe he knows it? Maybe—aw shit, I don't know. This is a fucking vampire, isn't it?" Sam asks, clearly confused and irate. Natasha shakes her head minutely. 

"Can't be certain until we find it and bring it in," she says.

Steve's cupping his chin, looking down at the scene. There is minimal blood, and no overt signs that there was any kind of struggle. He didn't think vampires existed, but aliens apparently do so he's not about to disregard anything at the moment. 

Just when he's about to open his mouth to confess to the two of them that he's been experiencing some kind of weird stalking, the trickle of ice drips down his spine.

His head whips to the direction of the back of the alley, and he knows in his bones that it's close, and that it's watching them. Sam's talking, but all he can hear is ringing in his ears, can only feel his stomach drop and his legs start to move in the direction he knows it's in.

"Cap?" Natasha asks from behind him, but he can't even look behind him or speak because his feet start to run, carrying him towards where the feeling is leading him. He takes off in a sprint, ignoring the shouts from his teammates behind him.

He runs down the alley, and he knows it starts to run away but he sees it—a glimpse of the shadowy figure down the alley and around the corner. He jumps over some garbage cans and chases after it, putting everything he has into running.

They weave through alleys and side streets, and he knows Natasha and Sam are somewhere behind him but far enough away that he doubts they know what they're chasing. He's getting closer, though, when he sees it run into a building.

It's an old apartment building, and it makes for the stairs. It's a tall and winding circle of stairs, and Steve is just a flight below it as they both run up them. He's starting to get winded, and all he can see are glimpses of it; a dark sweatshirt, wisps of brown hair. Nothing distinct, nothing of substance. 

He has to run faster, and he ends up taking four stairs at a time, feeling the burn in his legs. The figure makes it to the rooftop door first, bursting through it with Steve right behind it.

They break out into the sunlight of the roof and Steve sees him. He's in ragged jeans and Converse shoes, a black hoodie and a baseball cap. His hair is shoulder-length and brown. 

He turns around just as he's at the roof's edge; they're both breathing hard and Steve knows what he knows; there's nowhere else to go. He's sure Natasha and Sam are on their way. 

Steve's arrested as they make eye contact; his eyes are a piercing steel blue, almost silver. He's handsome, and looks young. He looks afraid, like he's going to be hurt. There's a clear disconnect between the brutality of the first victim and the look of this guy.

But there is a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. Steve knows it's him; he knows this is who—or what—they're looking for.

"Why have you been following me?" Steve asks, gruffly. The thing flinches like Steve slapped him and takes another step back towards the edge. 

The longer Steve looks at him, and more he's starting to feel—well, _bad,_ which doesn't make a lick of sense. This thing has hurt people, and it's clearly been stalking Steve to do the same thing.

But it has the oddest expression on its face; like it is desperate but hopeful. 

There are several moments of suspenseful silence as they stare at each other. Its face is obscured enough by the cap, but those eyes are still on him, staring into his soul. His heartbeat is loud in his ear, body thrumming with the quickened pulse. Then, it moves.

It takes a quick few step forward, like it's advancing on Steve and he—he hates to admit that he hesitates. He's not getting the feeling like he's about to be attacked; like he's in danger. He's not sure why, but he hesitates and immediately it backs off.

He feels like he'd just been tested, and failed. It's expression changes right before him; his face falls flat, hopeless—resigned. It shakes its head and lets out a soft sigh before turning around and running off the edge of the building.

Steve shouts, running forward but there is no way he could do anything but watch as it falls. Steve closes his eyes for a moment, scared to see it hit the pavement, but when he opens his eyes again—it's gone. 

No sign of it anywhere.

How—how is that possible?

Sam and Natasha then come tumbling out of the stairwell, and looking around frantically before settling their eyes on Steve.

"What the fuck was that?" Sam asks as they approach him, while he's still peering over the ledge, trying to find something that's no longer there.

"It was him," is all Steve can find himself to say.

~*~

Days go by.

The first victim is healing nicely, but has no recollection of the attack. All he can tell them is that he's usually on his way home from work during the time they suspected the attack to be, but he can't remember anything from that day.

The second victim is much the same. He's a college student who lives near where the attack took place. All he can offer is the memory of light blue eyes and the feeling of euphoria. He remembers feeling really good, and looks flushed and can't make eye contact when he's being interviewed.

They deduced that it must be a vampire, and that it has some sort of effect where it wipes it's victims' memories. It must feel pleasant to the victim, but besides that they have nothing else to go by. Steve sits them down and tells them about how he had been stalked, but since that day on the roof he hasn't seen or heard anything. They don't seem pleased with his hesitancy of coming forward with the information.

He finds himself drawing the vampire over and over again. He almost has half of a sketchbook filled with him; the shape of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the frown of his mouth smeared with blood.

His eyes. Steve dreams about his eyes.

He feels like he’s going crazy. He’s become obsessed with the vampire case, going on long walks through Brooklyn trying to find some sort of clue, some glimpse of a shadowy figure with those icy blue eyes. There’s not even a whisper; no new cases, no chilling feeling of being watched, nothing.

They have to take on other cases and run other missions. Hydra is still a threat and there are always some files to go through about them, possible splinter cells in foreign countries that are far away from sharp teeth and a lurking presence. Steve looks amongst the Hydra files with the help of JARVIS for some sort of clues about vampire experimentation, but there is nothing.

He Googles vampires, reads all of the lore he can find. He devours fiction books, and dreams about teeth sinking into his neck. He doesn’t understand why he’s infatuated, why this case is haunting him more than any other he’s been involved with. Even when the aliens fell from the sky, he wasn’t caught up on alien fairy tales for weeks afterward. He did his job and went home.

But those eyes are everywhere in his mind. He’s gotten to the point where he feels like he’s being followed simply because he’s always thinking about him. Like his thoughts could be seen, floating above his head like a beacon to be preyed upon and observed.

There are no more attacks for a full month. From the little Steve reads about vampire fiction, he thinks that it must need to feed at some point. Perhaps it's found a willing source of blood, or maybe it's gotten smarter about disposing of its victims.

The thought makes Steve’s stomach sour, and starts to look into missing persons in the Brooklyn area. Although it would certainly lead to a dead end, any recent disappearance may point to an unfortunate victim that’s become a meal. 

As he scans through pictures and bios, the words of the second victim kept nagging him. How the man had begged them not to hurt him. It seemed so wrong at the time, how upset the guy was at the thought that the Avengers would apprehend his attacker. He begged them, pleaded with them, not to hurt the vampire.

But why? The victim insisted that he didn’t remember who it was, nor remembered the event itself. Could he have been lying? Could he be protecting the vampire?

Steve continues to scan through the images of missing people, scanning farther back than just the month of no activity. That’s when he finds him.

His finger freezes on his mouth, eyes widen and lips part as he stares at the picture of a man that’s drawn all over his sketchbook. Bright blue eyes and a smiling face look at him, with the name James Buchanan Barnes next to the picture.

He quickly clicks on the picture, hand fumbling with his mouse. He reads through the description, sees his missing person report dated back to June. Steve thinks about the first time he felt that chill in his bones on his walk home from the bodega.

James Barnes, 21, lives in Park Slope, is a college student at NYU. Last seen leaving a Tuesday night class. His sister, Rebecca, is the contact information. Her phone number is listed.

With shaking hands, he scribbles down her number, and checks his phone for the time. It’s a little after four in the afternoon, but she might pick up.

He punches the number into his phone, doing his best to ignore his quicken heartbeat. This was important. James has been missing for a little over two months. That means something happened to him two months ago to stop his contact with his family, to stop going home even though he’s still very much in Brooklyn.

The line rings a few times, and Steve is about to resign himself to hang up when the line clicks and a female voice answers.

“ _Hello?_ ” she asks. Steve takes a deep breath.

“Is this Rebecca Barnes?”

He’s met with silence. His brow furrows, and he looks down at his phone to see if it’s still connected. It is, 32 seconds into the call.

“Hello?” he asks. He hears a noise on the other side, like a gasp.

“ _You found him, didn’t you?_ ” she asks. Steve opens his mouth to reply, but she cuts him off, asking, “ _He’s dead, isn’t he? You found his body._ ”

Steve’s mouth clamps shut. Well, were vampires technically alive or not?

“Ms. Barnes,” Steve starts, then shakes his head and tries again. “Rebecca, I have not found your brother. But I am looking for him. Do you think we could meet so I could ask you a few questions?”

There is a pause, and then she speaks again.

“ _Who am I talking to?_ ”

“Ah—Captain Rogers. I’m in a special unit looking into some odd occurrences in Brooklyn lately. Could you meet with me? Maybe, a coffee shop? I’m partial to Nana’s in Red Hook,” he says. 

Rebecca is quiet again for a few short moments, and Steve is about to sigh and try a different approach to get her on board when she finally speaks.

“ _I’m off tomorrow. Four o’clock._ ”

“Oh—yes! Yes, tomorrow at four. I’ll see you th—” the resounding sound of the call hanging up cuts him off. He looks down at the screen, sees the call end screen. The conversation lasted less than five minutes, but it felt so much longer.

He lets out a deep breath and taps his fingers on the table, contemplating whether he should talk to Nat or Sam about this. There’s something in him that’s holding him back, some feeling about all of this that’s keeping him from truly believing that James is some monster out eating people. A monster that he has to hunt down and kill if necessary.

He thinks back to their interaction on the roof—how he almost looked like he was about to give up. He had taken a step towards Steve, some look of longing and need in his eyes, and when Steve hesitated, the look evaporated behind a cool façade. Almost resigned. Given up hope.

He peers back down at his computer screen, looking at the man smiling at him.

He needs answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at me on Tumblr at [thiccbuckybarnesfic](https://thiccbuckybarnesfic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Full description of heavier tags for those concerned: **Spoilers below!**
> 
> The self harm/starvation and suicidal ideation tags come from Bucky's inability to deal with the fact that he was turned. He sees himself as a monster, and thinks he needs to be destroyed for the safety of everyone. Steve thinks otherwise. Besides references to Bucky refusing to eat ("feed"), no other graphic self harm occurs besides him trying to get the Avengers to kill him. This gets resolved by chapter 3.


	2. And if they get me, take this spike to my heart and

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support and interest so far <3 I can't promise I'll have as quick of updates as I'm doing right now, but I have two more chapters written and the whole fic outlined so we'll see how well I can keep up with myself.
> 
> The heavier tags come into play this chapter. If you would like an explanation of these tags before reading (contains spoilers) please see the end notes. A reminder that this fic has a happy ending, and no major character death or harm takes place. <3

Rebecca Barnes looks just like her brother.

After staying up late researching about the Barnes, he finds that Rebecca is James’ older sister. He finds their social media accounts, a parking ticket from 2011, and their parent’s address in Indiana. There was still something missing, though. And it barely slots into place when Rebecca strides into the café, a frown set on her pretty face, her eyebrows flat and unimpressed.

Steve stands when she walks in, staring right at her. Her eyes lock on him and become confused, before turning down even farther with a dark look about them. She must recognize him.

She hesitates, but walks over to him. He waits until she is seated to sit back down himself, and flags over the waitress to take their drink order.

“Green tea, hot, please,” Rebecca requests, and busies herself with setting her purse to the side of her in the booth and pushing the café menu away from her. Steve notices the slight tremble of her hand when she pushes her long brown hair behind her ear, and she finally looks up at him and holds his gaze.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asks, voice cracking but only the barest amount. She’s clearly trying to hold it together with the way her blue eyes become glassy. Steve feels himself soften. “You wouldn’t be involved unless it was bad,” she says, almost like she was saying it for herself.

Steve takes a deep breath, and waits for the waitress to come back and set Rebecca’s tea and his black coffee down. They thank her, and wait for her to walk away before looking back at each other.

“I’m not quite sure just yet,” he confesses. She doesn’t look like she believes him, like he’s placating her. He pushes on. “But I need to find him, before he gets hurt, or anyone else does.”

At his words, breath rushes out of her and she sucks it back in, like she’s trying to control a sudden need to weep. A tear falls down her cheek and she glances up at the ceiling to keep them in her eyes. 

“He’s alive?” Her voice wobbles, and even though they’re just a few short syllables, Steve can appreciate how hard they must be to get out. 

He looks down at his coffee, watches the steam billow up from the cup, and thinks about what to say. He needs to be careful with his words.

“If he is,” he starts, and she makes another noise like she’s trying to contain herself from outright sobbing. “If he is, he may not be for much longer.”

She does start crying then, and he hands over a napkin so she can dab her eyes. She accepts it, and stifles her cries. He gets this must be painful—he really does. But he hopes this not in vain; he hopes he isn’t teaching her to hope only for James to never reappear. 

He could already be lost forever.

Steve reaches forward and grasps her hand. She startles a bit, and looks up at him, tears not yet dry.

“Rebecca, I need you to tell me how to find James. Where he might be if he is running, or hiding. I need to know him, what his habits are. If he is still alive… I might be the only one who can find him, but there is a lot at stake here,” he says, sounding grave but trying to convey the seriousness of the situation.

“Bucky,” she says. He must look confused, because she continues. “His name is James, but he goes by Bucky.”

He settles into the booth, wraps his hands back around his coffee and gives her his full attention. This might lead to nothing—this obsession, infatuation may all be for naught. But he has to try. He at least has to try.

“Tell me about Bucky, then.”

~*~

After his long conversation with Becca, Steve gets to work trying to track Bucky through Brooklyn. There’s still no word about any victims similar to the first two, which could mean anything—is he getting smarter? Is he killing them? Is he still in the city? 

Is he dead?

Since he disappeared from his normal life over two months ago, Becca and her husband already moved Bucky’s things out of his apartment. Steve was still able to get into the empty apartment, now available for lease.

He walks through the small one bedroom, trying to imagine a life there. What pictures did he have hanging on the walls? What did he like to cook for dinner? He ignores that curiosity may not be actually helpful to finding Bucky, but he can’t help wanting to _know_ him. Perhaps the better he knows him, the better he can handle their eventual interaction.

If they ever find him. If he’s still alive.

The tour through the empty apartment gives him very little insight. Bucky’s apartment is, however, close to Steve’s, which may explain why Bucky was tracking Steve.

He walks through what was Bucky’s everyday life according to Becca. Where he went to school, where his favorite restaurants were, and where he worked at the little bookstore down the block from his apartment. He tries to see Brooklyn through his eyes, and finds himself again and again walking the little block that happens to be by Steve’s apartment where he felt that chill for the first time.

There’s an alley there, situated between two bigger buildings. He can see the bodega he usually shops at down the street. This was near where he felt Bucky’s gaze for the first time, so he steps into the alley and looks around.

It’s the morning of a Thursday. The skies are grey and dim, promising rain. There’s a cool breeze in the early fall weather, a chattering of changing leaves. The alley is quiet, dark and grey in this weather despite the time of day. There’s nothing except a few smelly dumpsters, and he nearly reaches the end of the dead-end alley, about to turn around and go home, when he sees it.

On one stone wall, just past a dumpster and hidden from view, is a dark splattering of something. Dark, like spilled red wine that’s dried. There’s so much of it; sprayed up the wall, evidence of it trickling down, the stains of it pooling onto the pavement below. There’s no doubt in his mind.

Bucky was here. This is where it happened.

This is where he was turned.

A chill creeps up his spine as he looks around. The alley is deep enough that the street is rather far away. It could be easy to lure someone back here, easy to stifle their cries, easy to hide the evidence. 

The first chill he felt—the first time he _felt_ Bucky, was it right after he was turned?

What would have happened if he looked?

A blaring noise makes him jump suddenly, practically out of his skin, before he realizes it’s just his phone. He sighs heavily and pulls it out of his pocket, frowning when he sees its Natasha.

“Rogers,” he answers quickly. 

“ _Steve,_ ” she says, sounding serious. “ _We have a major problem._ ”

~*~

The hallways are all empty. He knows these hallways; he was just walking through them the other day, trying to fit the image of Rebecca’s Bucky in this setting when all he knew was the shadowy figure he’d chased down on the roof, those blue eyes burned into his brain.

The lights from the fire alarm flicker overhead; someone having pulled the alarm after running. Everyone has been evacuated. The moment Natasha told him their vampire attacked a college classroom, Steve knew in his bones this was all wrong. This wasn’t Bucky’s MO; he took college-age men into alleys or on side streets, left them in the open so they’d be found. He didn’t go into public places, didn’t rip out people’s throats in front of others.

According to the few students they’d talked to before going in to find Bucky, he had just walked in, said, “ _You better run_ ,” before attacking their professor. The twenty-three students in the class have been accounted for; it is now just the teacher, and any other potential victims, they’re looking for.

Steve insisted he go in first, managed to get his trusted team dotting the perimeter and on the roof in case Bucky tries to escape. But he has a hunch that Bucky isn’t going to try to escape at all.

He finds Bucky in the classroom where they said it happened. He’s sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, hands laced on his lap, shoulders sagged almost in defeat, head hanging low. Steve walks in slowly, not sure what Bucky is planning to do.

Bucky looks up, those steely blue eyes on him, those eyes that have haunted him. He’s not wearing a hat or hood this time; his hair is pulled back in a bun, some chestnut locks hanging in front of his face. 

He looks terrible. His eyes look sunken; those eyes made even more bright by the dark circles around them. His face looks hollowed, pale. Steve can’t remember if he looked like this before—so lifeless. His face is blank, and there’s blood all over his mouth, sweatshirt, and hands.

There’s blood everywhere.

The professor is laying in a heap before him, blood pooled all around them. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense.

“Ah, finally. Captain America,” Bucky says, voice low but melodic. It makes Steve shiver. “You kept me waiting so long.”

And Bucky’s suddenly jumping forward, fingers outstretched and body tight and ready for attack. He’s lunging so quickly, Steve barely has any chance to dodge him. He grabs for the shield on his back, spins, and barely has time to raise his shield before Bucky is barreling into him.

“Where are your teammates, Cap? They send you in, all by your lonesome?” Bucky asks, sharp nails slashing at Steve as he continues to barely dodge Bucky. 

He manages to get enough distance between them, standing behind the teacher that is crumpled up on the floor in a pool of his blood. He looks down, expecting to see a scared dead face, but instead the teacher’s face looks peaceful; eyes closed, mouth slack. Like he’s asleep.

He’s definitely breathing. He’s still alive.

None of it makes sense. Steve looks around at all of the blood, at the waste of it. If Bucky is a vampire, he needs blood as food, doesn’t he? Why would he waste it? Why is the teacher alive if gallons of his blood were splashed everywhere?

Steve’s too distracted, he doesn’t see Bucky coming for him in a flash of speed. Steve’s knocked over, Bucky’s claws swiping at his face and knocking off his cowl. He jerks backward, getting himself far enough out of Bucky’s reach to steady himself.

“ _Steve, do you need backup? You’re awfully quiet in there,_ ” Natasha’s voice says in his ear.

“ _I’m seeing a lot of movement in the window. What’s going on, Cap?_ ” asks Clint.

Steve swears under his breath, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Bucky.

“ _I’m coming in,_ ” Natasha says.

“Keep your positions!” Steve yells into his comms, eyes tracking Bucky’s erratic breathing. He looks like he’s shaking. Trembling fingers twitch at his sides, but his eyes light up at Steve’s words.

“Oh, so your comrades are here, hmm?” Bucky asks, voice full of frantic laughter. “Why won’t you send them in, Cap?”

“ _Steve, what the hell is going on in there?_ ”

Steve shakes his head once, mind racing as he looks around the room before his eyes settle on Bucky. Rebecca’s words echo in his head, telling him about what a wonderful soul her brother is. How he’s so caring, so loving. The best brother, an honest man. It doesn’t make sense.

_It doesn’t make sense._

“ _Cap, talk to me here. What are we doing?_ ”

“Where's the witch?” Bucky asks, eyes trailing to the window. He has that look in his eyes, like the one he had when on the roof. When he took a step toward Steve, but backtracked when Steve hesitated. 

“For a monster like me, you must have brought her.”

 _Oh._ Steve’s so stupid.

His ears are ringing, and his breathing heavy. It all makes sense; why he came here in front of a whole class, why the professor is alive, why there is blood everywhere. 

“Is that what you think you are, Bucky?” Steve asks, watches as Bucky’s eyes widen as they whip back to him, fear flashing across his face. “Are you a monster that needs to be put down?”

The vampire takes a step back, mouth opening before closing again, lips pressing into a thin line. This is it, isn’t it? This is why none of this adds up. 

Bucky didn’t come here to feed.

“ _Steve, c’mon, talk to us._ ”

“I don’t think Becca would agree with that,” Steve says, prompting Bucky to flinch. He turns angry, scowling, showing his sharp teeth.

“Shut up!” Bucky yells, thrashing his arms. Now that Steve looks at him, _really_ looks at him, he sees how small he is. He may be fast and agile, but he’s still only a kid. “You don’t know me! You don’t know what I’m capable of!” Bucky yells, waving his hands violently around as if to showcase the bloodied scene. As if to say, _look at what I’ve done, look at what I’m capable of!_

It should invoke fear and disgust; there’s blood all over the floor, all over Bucky. Chairs are knocked over, the fire alarm lights flashing. It should be a testament to the damage Bucky can inflict.

But Steve doesn’t see a scene of chaos or violence. He sees a scene that has been staged.

He takes a step forward.

“ _He said hold our positions, so hold your position, Nat._ ”

“Doesn’t look like much to me,” Steve says, voice aiming for nonchalant. He steps over the teacher, not looking anywhere but Bucky’s face. His sunken-in face. Hollow and dark. Malnourished. 

Bucky’s shaking.

“Don’t come any closer!” Bucky yells, taking a step back as Steve advances on him. His voice sounds more fragile than it did before. Like he’s scared. It starts to rain outside, the _pitter-pat_ of rain tickling against the window.

“ _I don’t like this one bit._ ”

Bucky’s whole body is shaking, his eyes darting around frantically. He looks like a caged animal, hungry and frightened. Steve is so drawn to him, so intrigued. Everything in his body is telling him to take Bucky in, protect him, hide him from the horrors he must have faced.

“I will kill you!!” Bucky yells, words cracking as they leave his throat. His back is almost pressing against the wall, not looking menacing at all. It's almost like he’s terrified. He’s not threatening Steve.

He’s warning him. Warning him from getting too close. Warning Steve that he’s scared of what he might do. Scared of himself.

He opens his mouth to calm Bucky, to quiet him. To tell him it’s going to be okay, that they were going to get him help. Steve was going to help him. But—

“Steve!”

Both of their heads whip to the door where Wanda stands, eyes wide and locked on the amount of blood on the floor. She’s quickly holding her fingers up to her earpiece, calling for a medic, but Bucky—

Bucky lunges for her, hands outstretched, mouth in a snarl. Steve jumps forward, trying to yell at Wanda to run. She flinches at the contact Bucky makes, his claws scratching her face, her long brown hair twirling as she’s knocked over.

“Wanda! Run!” Steve yells, trying to get his arms around Bucky, but it’s not for her safety. It’s not for her safety at all.

Bucky manages to escape Steve’s grasp, and jumps after Wanda again. She scrambles back, falling through the door and regaining her balance in the hallway. Bucky’s after her, going at her with even more vigor than he did with Steve.

He’s trying to grab Bucky, trying to tackle him to the ground, trying to keep him away from Wanda. She’s in defense mode, not using her powers to attack, but to block and push him away. Bucky’s getting angry, and desperate. Steve can see how frantic he’s getting, how he’s trying to hurry up and get this over with.

He’s trying to get Wanda to kill him.

It all happens so fast—Bucky jumps after Wanda, who jumps away. Natasha is in his peripheral, Bucky’s claws outstretched for Wanda, her arms going up. Steve lunges, shots ringing out in his ears as the sound echoes in the empty hallway, a bright flash of red light exploding in his vision.

His front makes contact, and he tackles Bucky to the ground. He feels more than sees Bucky’s head hit the ground from the tackle. His right arm aches from the bullet that tore into it, and he hears his teammates cry out after him. He groans a little as he sits up, looking down to turn Bucky over and see that he’s been knocked out.

He sits back and sighs, looking up at several pairs of eyes.

“Why are you so fucking stupid?” Natasha hisses as she produces cuffs. Steve shakes his head.

“I just figured it out,” Steve says, looking down at Bucky’s face sadly. “Suicide by cop,” he says simply.

Finally, it makes sense.

Her face falls, and she looks down at the vampire as if that would give her more answers. Steve knows it’ll be a while yet before they understand it all, but at least they’ve uncovered this much.

The cleanup is quick. The teacher is taken in for medical attention, but the medics said he doesn’t appear to have any serious injuries—not even any wounds that would suggest blood loss. The rest of the Avengers were horrified by the state of the classroom, but after a quick sweep, Natasha finds several medical bags of blood in the garbage. He’d guess if they did some digging, they’d find a police report for missing medical supplies from a local clinic.

Bucky is still knocked out when they get him to Avengers tower, despite SHIELD’s protests for them to take him in. Wanda appears shaken up about the whole ordeal, but what’s important is seeing that Bucky receives medical attention before he sits down with her to debrief. Sam is watching him with careful eyes the whole time, which he does his best to ignore.

It's going to be a long night.

~*~

With Bucky securely in the guarded medical wing, and his own arm bandaged up with the bullet removed and already healing, he takes Wanda aside for a chat. She looks sad, curled up on the couch in the common room. She has a bandage on her cheek where Bucky got her with his nails.

“I’m sorry, you said to stay put but everyone was so concerned about you,” she confesses, eyes trained on her gloved hands where she’s wringing them together. Steve squeezes her small shoulder gently in comfort.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was getting into, but I had a gut feeling I had to trust,” he tells her. Her pretty eyes jump up to his face.

“You have been hiding things,” she says to him; not a question, but not quite an accusation either. He hangs his head a little, feeling the prickle of shame.

“I told you I found his sister, and that he’s been a missing person. That he had been following me,” he recounts. She tilts her head, assessing him with her sharp eyes.

“But,” she continues for him. He nods.

“But… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him,” he admits, turning a little away from her. “All the time, I think about him. I see him when I close my eyes. All I can think about is that… he needs help,” he says, and glances back to her. “You saw how he staged the classroom. He was trying to get us to kill him.”

Her face softens, and she pats his shoulder.

“The others are concerned that you’re too involved with him,” she tells him. He frowns at that, but deep down he knew it. That’s why they disobeyed his orders to stay put, why Sam gave him such a concerned look.

“He can’t hurt me, Wanda. He’s just a college kid. You saw the way he fought; clumsy and too eager. Perhaps if he--” he stops when she shakes her head.

“Perhaps it is more than his physical ability to harm you. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Steve. You may want to help him, and it’s so good of you to want to. But he may not accept it, and you have to respect that and decide what to do from there,” she tells him gently. 

Her words nag at him when he leaves her. He thinks he should go clean up and eat something while they wait for Bucky to wake up. He has to think about what to say, what their approach should be. He just needs time _alone_ with him, and he’s sure he can break through to him. He’s lost in thought about them when he nearly runs into Natasha.

“You’re an idiot,” she says to him. Her voice and face are flat, expressionless, but he knows her well enough to know that she’s mad at him.

“And you directly disobeyed orders,” he replies, walking around to the elevators. She follows him, of course. She won’t leave him alone until she gets the response from him that she wants.

“Yes, because you are an _idiot,_ ” she repeats, words coming out a little more forcefully, a little more angry. He spins around to her, frowning as he looks down at her.

“This is not a clear cut case,” he says to her. She seems unimpressed, raising a perfectly teased eyebrow at him and crossing her arms across her chest. “I told you going in what I learned about him from his sister, I told you that it wasn’t his MO. And I was right, wasn’t I? If it weren’t for my foresight, he would have been killed just like he wanted to be.”

Her lips twist up in a snarl.

“And that’s your goal, is it? To save him? Nevermind the fact that he is dangerous, nevermind the people he’s hurt. What are you going to do if he escapes, Steve? What is _he_ going to do? He needs to hurt people to survive,” she says to him, words hard and hurtful. Steve scoffs, turning away from her.

“ _That’s_ what you care about, is it? The assassin cares about imaginary victims more than the obvious victim right in front of her,” he says, voice biting and unforgiving. He turns around, knowing he’s hurt her. He regrets what he said before it even left his mouth, but there is no going back.

“Nat, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. She looks hurt, and looks away from him as she shakes her head, her pretty red locks bouncing from the movement of her head. “But you’re seeing him exactly how he wants you to see him. He _wants_ you to think he’s a monster, that he’s better off dead. But I can’t. And I can’t let you continue thinking that.”

She takes a step back from him, the distance between them growing more, both figuratively and metaphorically, with every step. 

“You’re in too deep,” she tells him, finally putting those emerald eyes back on him. “And it’s going to hurt you. Whatever he’s done to you—"

Steve can’t help it—he _laughs._

“Nat, this isn’t some vampire magic. This is a kid that was victim to something horrible not two months ago. He’s been starving himself and trying to get us to kill him so—”

“Yeah, did he tell you that, Steve?” she says, voice rising. He closes his mouth. “Or did you deduce that? As far as I’m concerned, we know _nothing._ And we can’t know anything until we get more evidence. He is only one account, and we have no more proof than his words and actions. That’s not good enough for me, and it shouldn’t be good enough for you.”

Steve shakes his head. “I found where he was turned, Nat. Right before the call. It was in an alley between our apartments. That was from the first time I felt him near me, he—”

“How do you know he was turned there, Steve? Is there a big sign painted on the wall, ‘this is where a vampire was made,' hm?” she asks mockingly. He scoffs at her.

“Of course not, but the blood, the location, the date he went missing, it all makes sense!”

“Sure, if you look at it from the perspective of him as a victim. What if he’s _been_ a vampire, Steve? What if he just killed someone in that alley? You can’t know anything for sure until we have evidence!”

Steve turns away from her and fumes, walking toward the elevators. Fine, she wants evidence? There is already a forensics team in the alley taking evidence and samples. Bucky will wake up soon and he’ll talk to him. He cannot stand for Natasha making these accusations and confirming to Bucky that everyone thinks he is a monster—

A monster that needs to be put down.

“Just be careful!” she yells at him just as the elevators close. He nearly punches the wall of the elevator in anger. He doesn’t need to be careful. He’s already been careful. He needs to make sure Bucky knows he’s on his side. And for that, he needs Bucky to wake up.

~*~

He meets Fury in the hallway outside of the interrogation room, and he doesn’t look very impressed.

“Captain,” Fury says, the permanent scowl on his mouth looking especially displeased today.

“Fury,” Steve says in reply, frowning himself. He barely had much time to debrief and shower after extracting Bucky from the university, then his interactions with Wanda and Natasha, and now he’s heard that Bucky is awake and not cooperating. Lovely.

Steve walks to the door, and is about to push it open when Fury stops him.

“Before you go in, I would like to remind you that SHIELD has jurisdiction here. And your boy is in a lot of trouble for the media disaster he’s caused. You’re here because you’re the only one he’s likely to trust, given your history,” Fury warns. Steve keeps his eyes level.

“As far as I’m concerned, Fury, this is Stark’s tower and it was the _Avengers_ who brought Bucky in, not you. This is a terrified kid that has been traumatized, and you will not be treating him like a war criminal,” Steve bites back, nearly seething. “So no, you do not have jurisdiction here, and the only reason I am here is because I am the only one on his side. So don’t you dare make this fucking situation any worse.” Fury looks unimpressed.

Steve shakes his head and pushes the door open, revealing a pale and sunken Bucky handcuffed to a metal table with two chairs opposite him.

Steve sees red, rage overtaking him as he spins to Fury. How _dare_ they chain this kid up. This is absolutely unacceptable. Fury holds a hand up, knowing exactly what Steve is about to start yelling about.

“Precautions are necessary, Captain,” Fury says, and gestures to him to sit down. As soon as this interview is over, Steve is getting Tony to kick all of SHIELD out.

Steve fumes, but deflates a little when he lays his eyes back on the vampire. Bucky looks small, wrists bound together and chained to the table. His head is down, hair hiding his face. Steve knows from the medical team that he refused the package of medical blood that was offered to him. The blood is fresh, so it isn’t that he can’t eat it.

No, he’s starving himself. 

Steve takes a deep breath and sits down in one of the chairs opposite to Bucky, Fury taking the seat next to Steve.

“It appears that James is refusing any kind of meal or medical treatment,” Fury says out loud, like he’s talking to Steve when Steve already knows this. Bucky doesn’t move. “What I would like to know, is what you’re planning to do from here, James.”

Steve watches Bucky shrink down even more.

Steve is quiet, keeping his eyes on Bucky. The vampire has yet to look up, or even acknowledge either of them. He’s resigned, just waiting; waiting to die.

Fury seems to be getting impatient. He leans back and sighs.

“I have seen a lot of shit in my career. But vampires? This is a problem we don’t need to have. We can’t have a bunch of deadly _bloodsuckers_ running around New York City,” Fury says with a scowl. He’s clearly trying to get a rise out of Bucky, but it doesn’t work.

Bucky flinches at his words instead, like he was slapped. Steve’s read enough vampire fiction in the last two months to know that Fury definitely just used a slur and that he was doing more harm than good.

“Bucky,” Steve says, gentle but firm. The boy doesn’t budge. “Bucky, we can help you. We just need you to tell us what happened, and why you did what you did.”

Steve’s request seems to have piqued Bucky’s interest. The vampire perks up a little, lifting his head enough to peer at Steve through the strands of brown hair obscuring his face. Steve gets goosebumps when those steely blue eyes land on him.

“Help me?” Bucky asks, voice rough but quiet. “You want to help me, after I’ve told you why? You want to know _why_?” The vampire asks, voice rising with every word, head lifting so that Steve can see his face fully now, see the anger that’s contorting his pretty features.

“Bucky,” Steve says calmly. The last thing they need is for Fury to think Bucky is violent or dangerous. He needs to control this situation and convince Bucky to take their help.

Bucky looks like he’s trembling, and he slams his cuffed hands down onto the table. He growls, thrashing around. Steve can see it for what it is; a show.

“You wanna know _why_ I murdered people?! Because I was _hungry_!” he yells, fangs dropping as he jumps up, and making his chair fall back. Fury, thankfully, doesn’t even blink.

The two of them are quiet, waiting for Bucky to finish. The vampire’s chest is heaving, his eyes looking wild, his teeth bared. Steve sighs and stands up, walking behind Bucky without any defensive body movement, and picks up Bucky’s chair to place behind him.

Bucky’s staring at him, eyes wide and fearful. Behind all of his tough exterior, trying to make himself look like a mindless and vicious monster, he’s just a scared kid. Steve gestures for him to sit down, and he does, nearly collapsing into the chair behind him. Steve returns to his own seat, but leans forward on his elbows.

“Bucky,” Steve starts, gentle, trying. “Unless there is someone we didn’t find, you didn’t murder anyone.”

He watches as his words are processed, Bucky’s eyes widen, wet and shiny. His mouth parts, and a small, hurt noise escapes him. He’s thankful that Fury continues to watch, and hopes he continues to not interfere.

“The man in the alley on 47th? Expected to make a full recovery. You didn’t kill him,” he says, and watches as Bucky blinks and tears fall down his sunken cheeks. Those steely blue eyes break away from Steve’s gaze as he looks down at his trembling hands, still cuffed to the table. 

He waits a moment to see if Bucky says anything, but the vampire is quiet.

“...Was there more than just the two, Bucky?” Steve inquires. Bucky blinks, a few tears falling down his cheeks. Instead of saying anything, he just shakes his head slightly as an answer. So it was only the two men, both found in time for no irreversible damage to be done.

“I found the spot it happened,” Steve says quietly. Bucky doesn’t seem to understand because he looks up cautiously. “The back alley, behind the dumpsters. I was right there, wasn’t I? The day it happened, I was walking past with groceries, not knowing just moments before you were in there being attacked.”

More tears fall down Bucky’s face, his bottom lip quivering. He closes his eyes, making more tears drip down.

“He….h-he came out of the alley, saying he needed help. Said he found a box of kittens, and d-didn’t know what to do,” the vampire says in a quiet voice. He’s looking off to the side now, crying freely, shoulders fallen in defeat.

“He lured you back where no one could see,” Steve says, trying to prompt Bucky to continue. His words make Bucky’s eyes flicker shut again, and a shiver visible as his body shakes, remembering.

Bucky nods, his cuffs making a tinkling sound as he shifts, eyes still squeezed shut.

“He led me all the way to the back. I thought it was weird that I couldn’t hear any meowing. I was worried that--” he voice catches, and he tries to swallow and continue but it sounds like there's a bubble in his throat as he speaks. “I was worried they were dead. But there was no box,” he says, voice turning into a whine as he cries. 

His eyes blink open, staring directly into Steve’s. Steve reaches forward, and covers Bucky’s cuffed hands with his own to be reassuring.

“He grabbed me and pushed me against the wall,” he says, continuing at Steve’s nod. “All I remember is pain, and how strong he was. I remember feeling like… I was losing blood. It was... warm. And wet,” he swallows. ”He put his hand over my mouth, and I thought for a moment that the strength of his hand was going to crush my jaw.”

Bucky tilts his head back, looking up at the ceiling. 

“I was so hungry when I woke up. But I didn’t know for what. I saw you, and I smelled how.... but I was so scared. I knew, I _knew_ what he made me into. And I was so scared of what I would do, I just ran.”

He shrugs then, like all of his words didn’t change anything. Like the fact that he was forcefully made didn’t change _everything._

“After what I did to the first one, I just… lost it. What was I supposed to do? I had to find out how to kill a vampire. The whole city was a risk with me on the loose. The only thing I could think of was the Avengers,” Bucky says simply.

It’s quiet for a few moments as Steve tries to process it all. It’s exactly as he had thought; Bucky was setting them up, trying to get Wanda to destroy him out of self defense. That time on the roof, was Bucky hopeful that Steve could fight him? Kill him right then and there? 

“When was this?” Fury asks, looking at Steve.

“Mid June,” Steve supplies. Fury hums, and settles his eyes back on Bucky.

“You want me to believe that a recently turned vampire was able to control itself after being made? Your attack on that first victim wasn’t until August.”

Steve hasn’t considered that. Or perhaps, he was willfully ignoring it. 

Bucky turns away, settling his gaze back down to his cuffed hands. “I’m not proud of myself, or my actions” he says, a few more tears slipping down his face. Steve’s heart sinks. “I never wanted any of this to happen, okay? And I know what I’ve done. I know something has to be done about it.”

It crashes over Steve. Natasha and Fury were right. Bucky has done worse than they know, hasn’t he? Has he been lying this whole time? How could they navigate this, if Bucky killed someone? He’s surely going to be taken into SHIELD’s custody, probably be tested and experimented on. He can’t stomach the thought of--

“I… broke into the Long Island blood bank,” he says, almost mumbles it, still looking down with wet cheeks.

Steve’s never let out such a big breath of air. 

“Christ,” Fury swears, putting his hands over his face. Bucky’s head shoots up, looking embarrassed and ashamed of himself.

“I—I was trying so hard, okay! God, it’s awful, okay? I know it’s awful. It wasn’t even--” Bucky sobs on the words and shakes his head. Steve suspects Fury is trying hard not to laugh. “It’s detestable. Stealing from a—from a place that’s supposed to _help._ When I got hungry again, I thought maybe I could get someone to help me. I’ve seen the movies, I’ve read the books. Vampires are charismatic and, I don’t know, _sensual._ But I was so hungry, and I was so worried about messing up that—that—"

Bucky swallows a few times, crying openly now. Steve no longer thinks it’s funny that Bucky thought that stealing blood from a blood bank was such a horrible crime. Now Bucky’s tears are just making him _ache_ to reach out and soothe him.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know how to retract my teeth. I hadn’t— _done it before._ And I ended up taking so much fucking blood, and there was _so much everywhere._ I—I called out for help but panicked and ran. I couldn’t… I couldn’t come to grips with it,” he finishes, deflating in the chair, the cuffs clinking slightly. 

They were all quiet for several moments, with Steve and Fury both watching Bucky who wasn’t looking at anything in particular. He had that distant look about him, like he had given up. Like he was stuck in his head, replaying the images over and over again. Steve’s sure that’s what he would be doing, if their roles were reversed.

He and Fury exchange a look, and Nick hangs his head with a sigh.

“Okay, kid. Given the fact that you did harm—not kill, but harm—two civilians and destroyed a classroom, there are repercussions. We still have evidence being processed in the labs and witnesses still being interviewed. That being said, even if there was no harm done, we can’t exactly leave a vampire to run around the city, let alone two.”

Bucky perks up at Fury’s words, and fixes those icy blue eyes on him.

“What?” Bucky asks, voice trembling.

“Well, being that it was the Avengers that brought you in and that you’re in their tower, I am deferring to them on how to handle you. We do have a huge media mess to clean up, which I’m sure Ms. Potts is not happy about,” Fury says, humor almost touching his voice. Steve can’t believe his ears.

Fury stands up and brushes his pants down and fixes his coat. He pulls a key out of his pocket and tosses it to Steve before petting down at Bucky. 

“I’m going to want to talk to you again in a little while so we can confirm your account about what happened in the alley. You were turned against your will, so you say, which means there’s something else out there that we should be shifting our attention to. Until then, Rogers, Barnes, stay out of trouble,” he says in dismissal to them, and then walks out of the room.

Steve stands up and walks over to Bucky with the key in his hand, moving to unlock Bucky from where he is cuffed to the table.

“I don’t understand, what does this mean?” Bucky asks, confused and sad eyes looking up at him. Once Steve removes the cuffs from him, he doesn’t move an inch, not even lifting his hands from where they were restrained.

“Bucky,” Steve says, putting his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Steve just wants to wrap him up in a blanket and make him eat, which is exactly what he is going to do. “As far as Nick and I are concerned, you did not cause any major harm that justifies locking you up. My priority now is make sure you eat something and get some rest,” Steve informs him, gently urging Bucky to stand up.

Bucky sputters then, stumbling over words and half-attempts to convince Steve that they’re making the wrong decision. He needs to call Tony about getting a secure room for the vampire, but he’d feel better if he brought Bucky back to his apartment in the tower. There were two rooms, and he’s sure Bucky wouldn’t want to be left alone. This way, he can keep an eye on the kid.

All he knew, whether it is right or not, is that he can’t leave Bucky alone. He needs to show him that he can trust Steve. He needs to prove to Bucky that just because he is a vampire, he’s not a monster.

And that starts with getting fed from someone willing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is happier, and the more... explicit... tags prove their worth. ;) Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Come scream at me on Tumblr at [thiccbuckybarnesfic](https://thiccbuckybarnesfic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Full description of heavier tags for those concerned: **Spoilers below!**
> 
> The self harm/starvation and suicidal ideation tags come from Bucky's inability to deal with the fact that he was turned. He sees himself as a monster, and thinks he needs to be destroyed for the safety of everyone. Bucky attempts to get the Avengers to kill him by staging an attack on a college classroom. When Steve figures out that this is what Bucky is trying to do, Bucky attacks Wanda in hopes that she will destroy him. No major harm befalls any of the characters.


	3. and if they get me and the sun goes down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance, this is purely self indulgent vampire porn. And it's only the beginning :-)
> 
> No major warnings besides hi there will be blood drinking and smut from here on out. Please check the updated tags.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for all of the love <3 So glad you folks are enjoying this!

When he gets Bucky into the apartment, he gives him a quick tour and guides him to the spare room. He’s ignoring the annoying flitter of nerves in his belly he asks if Bucky wants to eat. He offers the medical blood packs that are now stocked in his fridge, but Bucky wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, declining much to Steve’s concern. Steve is about to offer _himself_ when Bucky quickly makes it known that he’s tired.

“Can I… Can I shower and go to sleep? I don’t think I can actually sleep, being what I… what I, y’know, am. But…” he trails off, looking away to avoid Steve’s concerned expression. Steve resolves himself to trying to get Bucky to eat again later and nods before guiding him back to the bedroom.

“I’ll get some standard clothes delivered for you. JARVIS?” he asks. Bucky looks confused for all of two seconds before he jumps in surprise at JARVIS' response.

“ _Captain, I have requested that Laundry Services will deliver the Stark Industries branded sweat pants and sweatshirts from the stock, approximately size men’s medium_ ,” JARVIS informs him. Steve nods, and notices how perplexed Bucky looks.

“Ah, sorry. Jarv, can you introduce yourself to Bucky?” he asks, showing Bucky down the hallway and stopping at the linen closet to pull out a towel for him to use. He feels like he has to busy himself or else he will vibrate out of his skin at his nerves.

“ _Certainly, Captain. Master Barnes, I am the artificial intelligence system that runs the building. Please do ask me for any help you may need,_ ” JARVIS says to them. Bucky is still looking around at the ceiling. His eyes land on Steve, wide and full of wonder.

“Okay, I’ll be just down the hall if you need me, and you can ask anything of JARVIS at any time. It’s pretty late, so we won’t be needed anywhere until tomorrow,” Steve tells him, trying to be kind with his wording. He feels almost as if he is tip-toeing around a frightened deer, which is such an ironic departure of reality since Bucky was really a blood-sucking, well, _predator._

The Avengers are going to be fielding quite the headache of the media mess that Bucky’s stunt pulled, and they still have to navigate the legalities and NDAs that need to be signed. Something certainly has to happen given that Bucky assaulted three innocent people, but they'd have to navigate blind being that vampire's have never been tried in court before. But for now, Bucky deserves rest.

He turns to return to the living area and hears the bathroom door quietly shut behind him. After several moments, the bath faucet turns on. He smiles, thinking Bucky will appreciate the water heater in this building. There’s nothing like a hot bath to unwind from a terrible day.

But then he has inappropriate thoughts about the vampire naked in his bath and he has to shake his head to get those tempting images out of his head.

He collapses down on the couch and takes out his cell phone, which has been on silent except for emergency notifications. He has a few official emails he needs to respond to in the morning, and a text from Sam asking if he is okay. Nothing from Natasha. He’s not sure how they’re going to resolve the tiff they had.

He scrolls down to Rebecca’s number, saved in his cell phone. With one ear listening to the bath run, he presses the call button.

The phone rings one time before the call is answered.

“ _Steve?_ ” Becca says, sounding urgent, scared. He’s sure she’s seen the news. Although nothing has been officially said, the media spectacle could logically be connected to Steve’s ambiguous words and justifications when he talked around why he needed to find Bucky.

“We found him, and he’s okay,” Steve says to her quickly, trying to ease her mind as soon as possible. He hears a sob on the other end, followed by her gentle crying.

“ _Oh thank you, thank you Steve. Is he there? Can I talk to him?_ ” she asks. He frowns, eyes flicking back to the hallway where the noise from the bath could still be heard.

“He’s recovering now, and I’ll be honest, Becca. He’s… he’s not well. Emotionally. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to talk with him tomorrow to see what he wants to do and encourage him to call you. There is… a lot we need to talk with you about,” he tells her. She’s quiet for several minutes.

“ _What happened to him?_ ” she asks, voice trembling. Steve closes his eyes and leans back into the couch.

It’s the worst feeling; being on the edge. He could easily take the plunge and tell her, but what a betrayal it would be to Bucky. This isn’t a conversation to have with her over the phone. This isn’t even a conversation that Steve himself should be having… it should come from Bucky.

“At the moment, I can’t say. But it wasn’t pretty, and he’s not going to be okay with it for a while. But he’s here, and he’s… alive. We’re going to need you to sign some NDA’s that I’ll have some people send over to you tomorrow so you can read over them. I’m sorry this isn’t more clear-cut, but this is going to have to be done in stages and at the pace he wants.”

The line is quiet again for a beat, and then Becca sighs deeply.

“ _Well, I’ve trusted you so far, and if this is my only option, I will try to reckon with it. What do I tell my family?_ ” Steve rubs his face, thinking.

“You can tell them that he’s alive and has been found, and that for his protection, the authorities are holding him,” Steve tells her. She doesn’t sound happy about his response, but it would have to make do for now. 

They say their goodbyes, with Steve promising to try to get Bucky to call her tomorrow. He’s not sure what Bucky will want to do, especially since he had been effectively living on the streets for two months. If he had wanted to turn to his sister, he certainly had enough time to do so. Steve guesses he was too afraid to be around people, in fear that he may hurt them. He can understand that.

It’s another hour before Bucky appears. A Stark employee had come up and delivered a bundle of clothes, which Steve put outside the bathroom door. He heard the door open and then close again, assuming Bucky grabbed the comfortable clothes to put on.

Steve himself changes into lounge clothes and settles on the couch. He doesn’t have to sleep on the couch, seeing that JARVIS is monitoring Bucky’’s movements and won’t unlock the door for him to get out. He feels a little weird about it, but Bucky does technically have to be held until they figure out all of the legalities. 

At least his apartment is more comfortable than a cell.

He’s tucking into _Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives_ on the Food Network when Bucky makes his appearance. He’s still pale, but he looks better with his hair washed and in a bun on top of his head with baggy clothes on his lean frame. He hesitates in the doorway, eyes scanning the open living room and kitchen area, before settling on Steve.

"No sleep?" Steve asks him, to which Bucky gives a half-hearted shrug. 

He looks especially cute standing in the doorway, with his still-damp hair and his looser, comfortable clothes. He looks nervous, if anything, which seems so displaced from how this all started. Bucky was _watching_ him for two months practically; lurking on rooftops and stalking him like prey. Now he’s wringing his hands in an oversized Stark Industries sweatshirt with the sleeves so long that the cuffs fall to his fingers.

“Can I convince you to try to eat?” Steve tries, throat feeling a little dry. Bucky wrinkles his nose, and walks over to the opposite side of the couch to sit down.

“I know it sounds silly, but it just doesn’t feel… right. It feels like I’m stealing from someone,” Bucky murmurs, pulling his feet up onto the couch to hug his knees to his chest. Steve hums, understanding.

“What if you had someone willing? It’s not stealing if I offer it,” Steve tries to reason, watching Bucky carefully.

The vampire's eyes go wide, and his head flicks to Steve in surprise. He shakes his head, surprised at first and then frantically.

“No! What are you, crazy? Why would you even offer that? Steve, I’m--”

“You’re hungry,” Steve cuts in, lowering the volume on the TV before setting the remote down on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to Bucky on the couch, his arm resting on the back of the sofa. “You’re hungry, and you’re a vampire, so you’re hungry for human blood. You don’t want to take without permission, so I’m giving you permission,” he says simply. 

Bucky huffs and turns away from him. 

“Did I hit you too hard on the head? Christ, what kind of person just _willingly_ offers their blood to someone else? You don’t even _know_ me!” Bucky says, exasperated. Steve chuckles and rubs the back of his neck.

The thing is… he thinks he knows Bucky rather well. He spent the last few weeks trying to learn as much as he could about the man in hopes it would help him find Bucky. But how does he admit that to the very person in the flesh? And without revealing that he talked with his sister at length about him?

He’s already revealed that he knows of Becca, but not to the extent that he does. How is Bucky going to react to that news? Is he going to be mad, or is it just a hard subject for him? Is this even the time to talk about it, after the long day that they both have had?

“Buck, I gotta talk to you about something,” Steve says, settling deeper into the couch as he faces him. Bucky grabs the blanket thrown on the back of the couch and covers himself with it, making Steve wonder how often he’s cold.

“You were talking to my sister,” Bucky says, not meeting his eyes. Steve’s mouth falls open, and he stutters before regaining his composure. Bucky flicks is eyes up with a small, nervous smile. “I heard you. My hearing is… it’s better than it’s ever been,” he explains, eyes focusing back down at his hands where he’s running his fingers around the plush blanket. 

“I’m sorry, yes I found Becca and we met. So, I mean, you’re right; I don’t really _know_ you but… I’ve tried to get to know you and I’d… like to get to know you better, if you want me to,” he says, feeling kind of lame about the way he’s phrased it. It sounds like such a _line._ Christ, he’s not picking Bucky up at the dance hall, he’s trying to get Bucky to feel comfortable enough to eat something even if that’s—

His mind goes a little blank, not sure why he’s so stunned at the realization. He’s trying to get Bucky to eat _him._ Well, not fully, but drinking blood from a person is like eating them, isn’t it? Gods, he’s a fucking mess.

Maybe Bucky was right—maybe he _was_ hit too hard in the head.

“How is your arm?” Bucky asks him then, clearly avoiding the conversation about his sister. At least Bucky knows, and he didn’t seem mad. Steve shrugs. 

“Just a scratch, I heal quickly,” he replies, letting the words speak for themselves. Bucky nods, keeping his eyes trained on the blanket. 

They’re quiet for a while, trying to watch the TV. Steve’s not really sure if he should push; he can’t break the fragile trust he’s built so far, and he really doesn’t want to come off as too... _eager._ He hates to admit to himself that he kind of is, though.

He’s not sure why. But he’s been drawn to Bucky since the beginning, and he’s been driven by an intense need to help him. Maybe Nat’s suspicions are right, or maybe there is some kind of voodoo vampire magic at work here. But he wants to help Bucky. He wants him to see that there is a way to exist without stealing and harming others like he seems to think he’s doomed to do.

Bucky looks pale still. Though the bath did him good, he still looks almost like he’s sick. The last time they’re absolutely certain that Bucky fed was the second victim in the alley, and that was weeks ago. He must be starving. Steve’s not sure how he can handle it.

“My offer still stands, so let me know if you change your mind,” Steve says, figuring he’d leave it at that. Just a gentle reminder.

He watches how Bucky rolls his eyes and throws the blanket off of him. Before Steve can even blink, Bucky is tackling him down onto the couch, wrists being pinned down and ice blue eyes staring right into his own.

Steve barely moves; doesn’t even try to fight. He’s reminded of just how strong and fast Bucky is; certainly more than the average human. He’s just looking up at Bucky in wonder, feeling his weight press down on him. Bucky looks serious for all of two seconds before he’s huffing and climbing off of Steve.

“Are you fucking serious? How do you have the self awareness of a peanut, Mr. Captain America? I guess you can’t have a ton of self preservation in your line of work, considering you have to fling yourself into dangerous situations. But come _on!_ ” Bucky complains, falling back into the couch, albeit close enough for Steve to reach over and touch now if he wanted.

The absolute bratty sass coming out of Bucky's mouth makes Steve smile. Until this point, he's only seen Bucky trying to make himself seem terrifying or absolutely heartbroken and crying. Sarcasm was a good look on him.

“Just means I’m not scared of you,” Steve teases, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Bucky looks surprised in turn, and glances over at him.

Bucky leans forward, sitting cross-legged toward Steve. He blinks up at him, tilting his head in curiosity.

“You got some kind of vamp kink I need to know about, Rogers?” Bucky asks with humor. The question takes Steve so off guard that he sputters and then laughs loudly.

“Well, I admit, when trying to learn more about you, I did read the _Twilight_ series,” he says, chuckling. Bucky thumps his head against the back of the couch and groans.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You think I’m some kinda Cullen or something? Christ, Steve, I don’t sparkle in the sunlight or nothin’,” he bemoans, making Steve laugh some more. Steve shrugs again, feeling a little bashful.

“I read and watched more than I’m proud to admit,” he says, averting his eyes. Bucky doesn’t say anything, and when he turns back to look at him, the vampire seems to be staring at him curiously. Studying him.

“You really worked that hard to find me?” he asks, voice soft and eyes wide. He can’t really explain why to Bucky without making him sound like a complete crazy person. Steve tries to brush off the feeling, but Bucky is still staring at him.

“I mean at first, yeah I _needed_ to find you. We had a victim on our hands, and you appeared to be really dangerous,” he says. Bucky’s face falls a bit, but he nods in understanding. “But…” he continues. “After I chased you to the roof… it was just so odd. It wasn’t what I was expecting and I just knew at that moment that there was more to it. I had to find you, not simply just to stop other people from getting hurt but…”

He doesn’t realize that he’s looking down at his hands until he does and glancing up to see Bucky still watching him. They’re close now, and Steve feels hopeful; maybe his honesty is breaking through to Bucky.

“When I found your missing persons case, it all started to slot into place. We suspected then, what you were. And I just had to learn everything I could about you and about vampires in hopes that it would somehow help me find you,” he admits.

Bucky tilts his head, eyes still studying Steve. He bites his lip, his fangs noticeably long put away. Steve feels heat in his belly at the thought of wanting to see them.

“I feel weird in admitting this, but I… was never really that far from you,” Bucky says softly, catching Steve’s attention to look back up to his eyes from his mouth. He feels his face flush from how distracted he’s gotten. Bucky smiles nervously—or at least, he appears nervous. “This is really embarrassing to confess,” he laughs, but it’s a strangled laugh, like he feels awkward.

“What?” Steve asks gently, reaching forward to put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He gives a squeeze for encouragement.

“I really don’t mean this in a weird way, or—well, maybe I _do_ considering I’m literally a vampire but you… you, uh, smell really good? I felt like I was torturing myself, following you everywhere. But you just smell so…” he trails off, and Steve is sure he’d be pink to the tips of his ears if he wasn’t so pale.

Steve stares at Bucky while the vampire is intent to keep his eyes on his own hands, the silence between them almost tangible. Steve swallows thickly, his pulse quickening. If Bucky followed him everywhere, and wasn’t ever that far away from him as he says… how does he feel now, being in the same room as Steve? Does Steve smell good to him now?

Good enough… to eat?

Steve feels his muscles flex, trying to tamp down on that thought. Why does it _excite_ him so bad? Doesn’t he just want to _help_ Bucky? Or maybe Bucky was right, and he somehow gave himself a vampire fetish after reading and watching all of those things...

“Buck, c’mon, I know you’re starving,” Steve says quietly, fingers squeezing Bucky’s shoulder gently. The vampire still won’t lift his gaze from where he’s nervously wringing his hands. Bucky shakes his head.

“You don’t understand. It’s so… _personal._ It’s almost uncomfortable, how… intimate it is. I can’t explain it. It’s more than just donating blood… it’s like sharing part of you with me,” he says, finally peeking up. He has some flyaways from the messy bun on his head. He looks like he’s swimming in his sweatshirt. Steve wants to pull him in and never let go.

Steve is vividly reminded of the two men that Bucky had fed from, how even the first who was maimed in Bucky’s inability to control himself looked peaceful, content. _Blissful_. How the second sounded like he was high, floating in another plane of existence. How he had begged them not to hurt Bucky, despite not even knowing him.

“Bucky, I can’t force you. But my offer still stands,” he says, and leans further back into the couch. He thinks if he waits, shows Bucky that he’s not afraid, shows him what it’s like to ask for help from a willing friend… this could change everything.

This could help Bucky see he isn’t a monster; he just needs someone he can trust, someone who will _help him._

Steve’s wondering if he’s gone too far, if he's in too deep. His conversation with Natasha circles around in his head, the look of concern she had given him. His teammates are worried about him, his _friends_ are worried about him. But he knows deep in his bones that he has to help Bucky, that he has to be there for him. 

Bucky sighs next to him, bringing Steve out of his spiraling thoughts to look over at him. The vampire's shy eyes look up from where he had been feigning interest, and Steve feels his breath catching in his throat as they stare at each other. He doesn't know why Bucky's gaze is so intense for him, why he's so drawn to those icy blue eyes—but he is. He draws them, dreams of them, sees them when he closes his eyes.

"If you're sure," Bucky says meekly, just barely above a whisper. For a moment Steve isn't even sure what he's supposed to be sure about, too far gone his long trail of thoughts revolving around the younger man. But then he catches up with Bucky's meaning, realizing that Bucky is finally agreeing to eat; once again showing his hesitant trust in Steve.

Steve nods eagerly, and scoots closer so that they're sitting face to face on the sofa, their knees pressing against each other. Bucky continues to wring his hands in nerves, and looks up at Steve through his long lashes.

For the hundredth time, Steve is reminded of how attractive the vampire is. He may want to help Bucky, want to befriend this young man like he deserves, but he'd also be lying if he said he wasn't drawn to the vampire's beauty. If all of this had never happened—if he had met Bucky under different, more normal circumstances, he thinks he would have asked him out on a date. 

He can't really complain if such a pretty guy had his teeth in his neck.

"O-okay, uhm, I'm not very good at this. This is only my third time," Bucky confesses, confirming what Steve had suspected that in the two months since Bucky had been turned, he was certainly starving himself if he'd only fed twice. There is still so much unknown about the biology of vampires, especially how often Bucky actually needs to eat.

"I don't—" Bucky stops and swallows thickly. Steve nods to encourage him to keep going. The vampire hesitates, but he leans forward a little and puts a hand on either one of Steve's shoulders. "I don't want to hurt you, but I haven't… It's been a long time, and I'm--" his breath hitches and his eyes widen where they're glued to Steve's neck. "I'm so _hungry,_ " he whispers all at once before taking in another deep breath.

His eyes glisten and blink back to Steve's face.

"Buck, it's okay," Steve reassures. "Things have a harder time affecting me. I'm sure I won't have the same… intensity of feelings that normal humans have. And it's harder to hurt me," Steve says soberly, trying to encourage Bucky, to keep him from backing down.

Bucky shakes his head, his fingers gripping Steve's shoulders a little tighter.

"How about this," Steve says, and looks up at the ceiling. "JARVIS, can you please supervise and monitor my vitals while I… help Bucky? Please alert Bucky to stop if he goes too far, and if there is any cause for interference, can you notify any of the Avengers nearby to come intervene?" 

" _Certainly, Captain. Miss Romanova and Mr. Barton are both one level below you in the common area. Any signs of too much blood loss, including a drastic decrease of blood pressure, increase of heart rate, paleness, or rapid and shallow breathing will alert me to call for help,_ " JARVIS says. 

Steve looks back down to Bucky with a small smile on his mouth. Bucky still looks nervous, but more hopeful.

"See? We can handle it," he says soothingly, and then tilts his head a little to expose more of the left side of his neck that the vampire had been eyeing. "C'mon, Buck," he whispers, encouraging.

Bucky stares at Steve's neck like he's mesmerized, and leans forward with his mouth parting. His hands that were settled on Steve's shoulders move up so that one cups his right cheek and the other smooths over the left side of his neck, right below where Bucky must want to bite. This thumb rubs over Steve’s pronounced Adam’s apple, shooting little sparks of anticipation down his spine.

"I don't know how it will feel for you, but I imagine it's going to hurt for a moment and then… feel really good," Bucky says, trying to prepare him. Steve just hums, trying not to move. When he feels Bucky's breath tickle his skin, his eyes flutter closed.

He feels the graze of lips, making goosebumps raise down his arms. He inhales and holds his breath for a moment before feeling a lukewarm, but wet, lick. Just as he releases his breath he feels the telltale prick and then—

Razor sharp teeth sink into his neck. His hands tighten where they are; one gripping the couch, the other on Bucky's knee. It’s certainly not anywhere close to the worst pain he’s felt, but it’s there and ever-present, demanding to be felt. But then he feels the first pulls of blood from the wound, Bucky's mouth sucking at his neck like he was trying to bruise it into a hickey but instead his blood is being drawn out and—

It feels _amazing._

He can't help the moan that bubbles up and out of his throat, or the tightening and relaxing of his muscles as he sinks where he sits. He doesn't know how to explain the sensation other than a comforting and warm veil floating over them, and little electric zips of pleasure running throughout his limbs.

He feels himself harden in his pants, and moans again at the pull of Bucky's mouth at his neck. His whole body feels hot; lulled like a good glass of whiskey does, lighting fire in his belly. Bucky has him right in his grasp, and Steve feels dizzy at his strength. He hears a high whine emit from Bucky himself right before the vampire tears himself away from Steve and scoots back like he's afraid of him

They're staring at each other with wide eyes, Steve noting how much more, well, _alive_ Bucky looks. His cheeks are pink, and his eyes aren't so sunken, his face not so hollow. He almost looks like his missing persons picture. He has a crazy, wild thought that his blood looks good in Bucky, and he wants to see more of it.

But what's more, is that Steve has the uninhibited feeling that he can't explain. He's staring at Bucky, but he can almost see himself, too. He feels the pleasure between the two of them, crackling like embers. He feels warm in this bubble of tension they're in, and he knows Bucky is as aroused as he is.

And he knows, he can _feel,_ that Bucky is still hungry.

"Don't stop," Steve tells him, reaching out to him to pull him in. He wraps his hands around Bucky's thighs, sliding their bodies closer effortlessly. Bucky moans, looking at Steve with half-lidded eyes.

*You're not full yet," Steve says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. Other than being wildly turned on and feeling warm and a little drunk, he feels fine. Bucky barely took any blood, and the serum will make sure he replenishes fine.

He pulls Bucky into his lap, has him settle so he's sitting on his thighs, Bucky's knees on either side of his hips. The vampire's hands press against his chest. Steve's breathing heavy, looking up at him.

Bucky doesn't take his time again, isn't as hesitant or shy. He simply leans back to the left side of Steve's neck, licks where his bite is already healing over and a little sensitive. Steve grips Bucky's hips right before teeth sink back into his flesh, that sharp pain before radiating pleasure.

Steve moans freely this time, pulling Bucky's hips down to grind into his own. He doesn't have to ask; he knows, somewhere in his brain he _knows_ that Bucky wants him. And in return, he thinks Bucky knows how he feels. He'd be embarrassed, but it feels too good; It's like they can share thoughts, somehow. Their feelings transmit through this exchange; Steve gives his blood, Bucky somehow gives him this amazing pleasure. A reciprocal relationship that opens his mind wide enough to be touched by Bucky’s own.

He doesn’t give a fuck if it’s vampire voodoo magic. It feels fucking miraculuous. 

Bucky's mouth draws a big gulp from his neck, and Steve feels his eyes rolling back into his head as he grinds his hips up. He hears another high whine, feels Bucky grinding himself down onto Steve.

The pleasure continues; his mind swims, and all that exists between them is the give, the take, and the dizzying pleasure. He hasn’t been able to get drunk after the serum, and even back then he was much too ill with his various chronic illnesses that he was advised to not hit the bottle. So this intoxicating experience feels different for him, but it’s what he imagines getting tipsy feels like.

He squeezes Bucky’s ass, body moving without a single conscious thought besides how _good_ Bucky feels. He knows it’s okay; that Bucky wants it, feels the same way. Steve can feel his thoughts, closes his eyes and sees them. All that is between them is desire, and Steve wants to drown in it.

Gulp after gulp of blood is taken out of his neck. Twice the wound closes and Bucky has to detach and move an inch and bite back down, and zing of pain heightens the pleasure that follows. 

Steve’s a mess, feeling like he’s on the verge of the biggest orgasm of his life. Bucky is grinding down on him, rubbing their thinly clothed erections against each other and making needy little noises that bring Steve closer and closer to the edge. His hands run up underneath the sweatshirt on Bucky’s back, feeling the vampire’s warming skin. 

His mind is going fuzzy at the edges, narrowed down to just the pure feeling of ecstasy running directly from his neck to his dick. A groan tears its way out of his throat, Bucky’s own whine harmonizing with him as they roll their hips and grind against each other, Bucky taking a big swallow from his neck until—

“ _Master Barnes,_ ” JARVIS’s disjointed voice comes down from the ceiling, loud enough to make Bucky jump off of Steve. In his surprise, his teeth nick Steve’s neck as he pulls away, and Steve feels the little dribbles of blood trek down his neck.

He’s breathing heavily, staring into Bucky’s bright, half-lidded eyes. His mouth is smear with Steve’s blood, lips bright and rich from taking his fill. He feels Bucky’s own pleasure running under his skin, feels that he’s now full, sees his pretty flushed cheeks—and yet, he’s not satisfied.

Steve makes an embarrassing noise at the feeling of Bucky’s desire, how badly Bucky wants Steve. How close he is, right on the edge.

Until his eyes glance down at Steve’s neck, where his blood is running down to his collarbone before starting to congeal.

Steve feels the drop in his stomach, the sudden horror. And the longer they are separated, the more distantly he feels Bucky. Like instead of being in his head, he fades into a background noise, getting farther and farther away. Steve can’t handle it; the awful feeling twisting in Bucky’s chest at the hurt he caused Steve, and how far away he’s starting to drift from him. Steve doesn’t even have to think about it.

He manhandles Bucky and flips him down so that he’s lying on the couch with Steve crawling over him. He doesn’t need to ask—he knows, he _knows_ down to his very molecular structure, that Bucky wants him to. So without speaking, not wanting to let Bucky suffer another second of feeling wrong about what he’s done, Steve is pressing his mouth against his.

They kiss dirty, lips and tongues tangy from the iron of blood. Bucky’s mouth is hot, and Steve has a crazy, obsessive thought in the back of his mind that it’s because he fed from Steve; that Bucky is alive from his blood, that he’s warmed by it, feels pleasure from it. It makes Steve kiss him deeper, more frenzied. Bucky moans below him, humps his hips up so that he can rub his dick against Steve’s.

Like a man possessed, driven solely by his own hunger for the man below him, he yanks down both of their sweatpants to free their cocks without removing his tongue from Bucky’s mouth. Blindly, he scrambles to get his hand around the both of them. He gets a good grip on both of their cocks and tugs, which makes Bucky make a choked-off noise that Steve swallows down.

The intensity is reignited, the pleasure they’re sharing with each other their sole focus. Steve’s pulse is still fluttering under his skin, the serum already working in overdrive to replace the blood he lost as he starts to feel that drowsy feeling that healing always gives him. Bucky feels amazing under him, his hips jerking in time with the rough jerks of Steve’s hand.

They can barely separate their mouths, Steve breathing hotly into Bucky’s mouth before shoving his tongue back in, wanting to be as close as possible. Bucky is clawing at his shoulders, limbs jumping around like he can barely contain how good he feels. Steve can still feel him, somewhere in his mind; he can still feel how good he feels, how full he feels, and it makes Steve himself feel that much better. 

Just as soon as it starts, it’s over. He _feels_ Bucky crest; his body trembling under him, his cock throbbing in his grip as it starts to pump in orgasm, but also at the emotional level he feels how good Bucky feels, and it makes him sob into the vampires mouth and comes himself.

It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had, but not just because of the intensity of pleasure and the novelty of the moment. He feels _close_ to Bucky, feels a level of intimacy he’s never felt. Wave after wave of it, it knocks him over and rebuilds him all in one. He feels renewed, his body trembling and shaking form the force of it as he reaches levels of pleasure he has never achieved with another. He feels sure in himself, his actions, and he wants, and he’s confident that Bucky feels and wants the same as him. It’s what he imagines it would feel to be with something for years, knowing everything about them, so much to the point that you can anticipate what they want or what they’ll ask for. 

The sharp pleasure fades out, and Steve’s now sticky hand lets go of them both. When he finally pulls back enough to look at Bucky in his face, he feels an overwhelming feeling of adoration when their eyes meet.

He sits back, letting Bucky slowly come back to himself. All he wants to do is hold Bucky, but he can’t with them both a mess. So he stands on shaky legs and stumbles to the bathroom to wash his hands and wet a rag.

When he returns to the living room, Bucky is lying on the couch still, his stomach wet and messy and his hands pressed over his face. Steve just wants to watch him for a moment, high on the happy buzz from whatever the hell _that_ was, and the intense need to do it again, and again, and _again_.

Bucky must sense him, because he peeks out from his hands, his cheeks now a gorgeous, rosy color.

“You really just going to let this dry on me, old man?” Bucky snips at him, though his bite is softened from how drowsy he looks, mouth trying really hard not to turn up into a lazy smile. Steve chuckles and walks to him, ready to wipe him down and carry him to bed.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did you think? :-D
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [thiccbuckybarnesfic](https://thiccbuckybarnesfic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> p.s. next week is finals so the update may be a little delayed. Please bear with me!


	4. And if they get me, take this spike and

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first chapter giving insight to Bucky's perspective. chapters 4-6 are bucky, 7 is steve, and 8 ends with bucky.
> 
> apologies for the delay in updates. the end of semester, then holidays, and rewritting of part of this chapter slowed me down more than anticipated. 
> 
> i hope you all had relaxing and peaceful holidays, and that you're all well and safe.
> 
> thank you again for your interest and support for this fic! angst ahead yo-hoy!
> 
> **potential warning for some suicidal ideation, but nothing that has not been addressed already. this is just in bucky's perspective so its a little more prominent.**

Bucky feels as if he wakes up to the birds singing.

It’s so cliché it’s painful, really. He’s in a fucking tower in the middle of the city; there are no birds this high up to be singing through his window. He’s pretty sure the windows can’t even physically be opened after a certain height. Instead, the room is quiet, warm, and the curtains are drawn, leaving only slivers of light peeking through. But still, the sentiment stands.

This is the first time he’s actually peacefully slept—or, _drifted._ Whatever the fuck he does now that he’s… _this_ —since he was turned. He vaguely remembers Steve carrying him to his guest room and tucking him into bed, brushing his hair out of his eyes before he slipped into a peaceful, quiet existence.

Bucky sighs and rolls over in the ridiculously cloud-like bed, pressing his face into his pillow. He doesn’t know what to think about all of this. He’s not sure why Steve was so intent to keep him from getting what he deserved, whatever was intended for him. He’s _really_ not sure what the fuck last night was.

The first two times he fed, it certainly felt nice. He was being truthful when he told Steve that it was incredibly intimate, and not just because of the close proximity. He felt their thoughts and feelings, and definitely felt how good it was for them. But neither time was anything nearly as intense as last night.

And the _taste_... well, suffice to say that nothing will ever taste as good again, especially if he is doomed to an eternal life of packaged blood. Bucky groans and kicks his feet against the mattress, feeling like a silly lovesick teenager. 

He knew Steve was special though. It was why he was so drawn to Steve; waking up in the alley cold and alone, and so hungry he thought he was losing his mind. He remembers seeing Steve, remembers watching him from the mouth of the alleyway. He remembers the smell; how Steve smelled so good Bucky’s teeth popped from his gums, and how the feeling of his fangs freaked him out so bad that he had to physically tear himself away otherwise he was going to hurt someone.

Even after he broke into the blood bank that Darcy used to work at and drank to his heart’s content, there was still such a deep hunger in him. He found himself following his nose, catching Steve’s scent and coming back to him again and again and again.

And now… now that he’s had a taste, anything less will be devastating.

For this is the first time he feels truly and utterly satiated.

Just the thought of it, coppery and rich on his tongue, makes him grind his hips into the mattress a bit. He feels Steve still; it’s distant, but he can tell Steve is close. Somewhere in the apartment, likely. Like he’s in his peripheral but it’s blurry and too far to see properly. If he closes his eyes tight and concentrates, he wonders if Steve can still feel him, too.

It’s unlikely. Steve is advanced, after all. His body heals faster, like he demonstrated. Bucky can’t say he knows a lot about Steve, or the other Avengers. Like most New Yorkers, the Avengers are hometown heroes that sometimes stopped the world from ending. But Bucky couldn’t say he really knew much about Captain America, let alone Steve Rogers. 

He spends a few more long moments in bed, rolling around a little bit while he enjoys the feeling of being full and satisfied. He wants to just stay there, hidden away from the world in the safety of the warm covers, basking in the feeling of Steve's blood running through his body.

But he can't. He knows already that Steve will try to get him to call his sister—something he was resolved to never do. How could she ever look at him the same way? He was a monster now. She should be afraid of him. They should all be afraid of him.

His dark thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He sits up just as Steve peeks his head in, looking a little bashful and apologetic.

"Sorry, Fury sent an agent to get the full description of your… attacker," he says as he widens the door a little more and steps into the doorway. Bucky can only nod and bring the covers up to his chin. He doesn’t know why he feels embarrassed from Steve seeing him in bed. Steve placed him here. Steve literally saw his _dick._

They stare at each other awkwardly. Steve looks like he’s waiting for Bucky to say something, but he has no idea what he _would_ say after everything that has happened. Thanks for the blood? You’re really cute? What the fuck.

Steve finally seems to get the picture because he nods and ducks out of the room, the door closing with a quiet click. Bucky falls back into bed with a huff, and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes. He would give anything to go back in time and undo everything that’s happened. He wishes he could go back to the summer; listening to the green leaves chatter in the wind, feeling that warm breeze, and watching the orange glow of the sunset when he walked home from his evening summer class. All of that is over now.

He didn’t really want to know what comes next.

He drags himself out of bed. He has no spare clothes except another set of these Stark Industries sweatsuits, so he figures his appearance is probably the best it's going to get. He stops by the bathroom on his way out, feebly attempting to freshen up even though he’s literally in his pajamas and he doesn’t have any sort of product, face wash, or even a hairbrush. He does his best to comb his hair with his fingers, wincing at the knots that have formed from his hair drying without a good brushing, and gathers it all into a bun on top of his head.

When he makes his way to the living room, Steve is standing behind the couch with tension set in his shoulders. His arms are crossed against his chest, making his pecs and biceps bulge a little. Bucky gets sidetracked from staring at him, before noticing that Steve is frowning down at the small redheaded woman that’s sitting on the couch. She’s nearly sprawled out; one shoed foot resting against the coffee table, leaned back and relaxed. Next to her is what must be another agent who is the sketch artist, who has a sketch pad in his lap. He’s unassuming looking, with short dark hair and glasses.

The redhead is watching him with an unreadable look on her face. They stare at each other for a few short moments before she stands.

He’s struck with the realization that this is the Black Widow, who tried to shoot him at the school.

He’s surprised she missed. But then again, Steve saw to that.

“James,” the Black Widow says, motioning toward the chair adjacent to the couch. “Why don’t you take a seat.”

He nods and steps forward, slow and with his head ducked a little. His cheeks are flushed in embarrassment, Steve’s blood running hot under his skin, and he doesn’t know if he can really hold her eye contact. He’s so ashamed of himself, and by her direct and emotionless words, he’s guessing she doesn’t think much about him.

“It’s Bucky, Natasha,” Steve interjects, and steps behind Bucky’s chair. He lets out the breath he’d been holding, feeling like he can breathe easier with Steve there. Natasha gives Steve a tight smile.

“Why don’t you let _Bucky_ speak for himself,” she clips at him. She returns her eyes to Bucky. “I am Agent Romanoff, and this is Agent Johnson. We’d like you to tell us what happened to you and describe your attacker as much as you can.”

Bucky nods along. Nerves buzz through him, and he imagines his heart would be fluttering in his chest if it still worked. He grips his knees to ease his trembling fingers, and swallows before starting.

He speaks, retelling the story just like he told Steve and Fury the day before. He can’t really look at Natasha in the face; her emerald eyes hard on him though her face blank. He feels Steve behind it, and it gives him solace to keep going.

He glances up at Agent Johnson, who is watching him. When he begins to describe his attacker, how he was lured into the alleyway, Johnson’s pencil starts scratching against the paper. He closes his eyes and tries to remember. 

He had just gotten out of his evening summer class. Computational Engineering with Burns, an old stuffy professor who wore tweed suits even in the summer months. It’s a required class, a _hard_ class, and going into his senior year he wanted it out of his way.

He guesses it doesn’t really matter now.

The day was a nice one, and the leaves were deep green and the neighborhood was relatively quiet. He had just gotten off of his bus at the stop, on his way home. He was considering ordering Chinese for dinner at his favorite corner spot, a treat for getting a good score on the test handed back that day. He was dreaming about the dumplings when he was stopped.

The man was bigger than him, dark hair and a sharp jawline. Scruff peppered his jaw, and crows feet creased the corner of his eyes. He was older than Bucky, but he smiled and looked kind. Who wouldn’t stop to help kittens? He secretly wanted one, but his landlord didn’t allow them. He was cataloging where the local vets were in the area, sidetracked about why he couldn’t hear any meowing. The guy was chatting with him, friendly and unassuming.

That was, until he pushed Bucky against the wall. Until he watched his face darken, and his mouth open and teeth elongate. Until he felt like his neck was being ripped open while he struggled against an unyielding body. 

It was like he was suddenly cast into some horrible nightmare, where the fabric of reality was brutally ripped open and he was somehow sucked into a different dimension. A dimension with monsters, like the one who clasped his hand over his attempt to yell out. He felt like any second his skull was going to break through the brick behind him, he was being pushed into the wall so hard.

The feeling of his life being physically drained from him is one he doesn’t think he could ever forget. How the world became fuzzy, and his attempts to scream were muted by the strong hand over his mouth. How no matter how much he struggled, the man didn’t budge an inch. How he became weaker and weaker against the steel of the body holding him up. How the world around him was bleeding away, like it was melting and running down into a drain on the ground, and only Bucky and this monster remained solid.

The scariest feeling was being trapped inside his body; how he was aware he was dying but he couldn't get his limbs to move. How he could do absolutely nothing but be aware of his own death until blackness took him. The memories are fuzzy, grey and soft around the edges, but he remembers the hand being removed from his mouth. He remembers something wet gushing down his throat, tasting vile like rotted blood. How it _burned_ him inside out once it hit his stomach.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Steve is stepping in front of him, eyes so concerned. He quickly tries to wipe away his tears, and he can’t bring himself to look up at either of the agents out of shame. 

“I think you’re done here,” Steve says, presumably more to the other two than Bucky, before taking his hand and leading him out of the living room. He hears Agent Romanoff call after Steve, but he’s brought into his guest room instead.

He sits Bucky down on his bed, and briefly steps away before returning with a few tissues. He dabs at Bucky’s face, who can only sit on the bed with his head bowed, unseeing and dazed. He’s not sure why Steve wants to take care of him. He’s not sure why anyone would want to help a monster.

Maybe he feels some sense of duty, since Bucky’s attached himself to the man. Maybe Bucky needs to put distance between them. Steve has been so willing to help, maybe there are powers that vampires have that he’s not entirely aware of yet. He knows vampires are usually described as charismatic and devious, able to sway their victims to be willing. Maybe Bucky has influenced him somehow, his monstrous abilities twisting and manipulating everyone around him.

He can’t believe this is genuine. It’s far too good to be true.

“You’d think I shouldn't be able to cry, since I’m not alive and all,” he says, attempting to be humorous though the words sound flat even to his own ears. Steve kneels before him, cupping his face in his big hands.

“You’re alive, Bucky,” Steve says reverently. “Whatever happened, and whatever will happen, you’re a survivor.”

Bucky hears the lie in his words. He is no survivor.

“The only reason I’m alive is because you made sure of it,” he bites back bluntly. 

Steve’s face briefly holds a complicated expression before his eyes soften.

“Buck,” he says gently. “You know that's not true. I know you want to live. Maybe you hate what’s happened to you, but I know you don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

His soft words make anger and shame spark in his belly. His frown deepens, and his neck bows down more, as if shrinking away from Steve will stop him from telling the truth.

“I remember the second guy. I understand now, after last night,” he says. Bucky doesn't know what he’s talking about, and without intending to he glances up to look at Steve.

His eyes are so kind. His face is relaxed, and there’s a small smile on his lips. He’s still kneeling in front of him, hands now on his knees.

“When Nat, Sam, and I talked to your second victim, we said something about needing to find you and bring you in. The guy he… he went from being all spacey to becoming really upset. He begged us not to hurt you.”

Bucky remembers. He knows exactly what Steve’s going to say. He shakes his head, but the effort is too much at the overwhelming feelings bursting inside him. Even just a shake of the head was too hard to make himself do when he knew Steve was right.

How does Steve see him so clearly, when Bucky doesn’t even know himself?

“You were there, listening. Maybe he liked how you made him feel, but as soon as he got upset, that was you, wasn’t it? He was reacting out of how he felt what you were feeling. How scared you were.”

He bites his lip and tries to look away. 

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, hand grasping his own his lap now. “Buck, we’re going to find whoever did this to you, okay? We’re going to stop it from happening to anyone else. And whatever happens, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live, okay? You might not have asked for this, but it doesn’t make you evil. It just means we have to find a way that works best for you, and the rest of us.”

“And you want that way to be you,” Bucky says, questioning but also accusatory. Steve looks taken aback for a second, before his face becomes more serious. He opens his mouth to reply, but Bucky cuts him off. “You think you know me, but you don’t, Steve. Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting with things you don’t fully understand.”

He’s not sure why he speaks the words he does, but they have the effect he wanted. Steve closes off, sits backs to expel a breath before standing up. He almost looks disappointed, and Bucky can’t help the bubble of shame he feels.

But he has to tamp down on it, because Steve needs to hear this. Steve has been rushing to his side since the beginning. And maybe he’s right; maybe Bucky hates himself, but truly doesn’t deserve the bad things that have happened to him. Maybe he can survive somehow without hurting people. Maybe there is a bigger bad guy out there that will be caught and no one else has to endure any pain.

But it doesn’t change the fact that Bucky has hurt people, and he’s going to continue to hurt Steve unless he can put some distance between them.

Steve nods, seeming to know when to back off. He takes something out of his back pocket and drops it on the bed next to him. It’s a key.

“You have your own room, but you can’t leave the floor. Whether you want her to or not, your sister has signed the proper NDA’s and will be here at two o’clock. You’re being held until the Avengers can sort all of this out and figure out what to do with you.”

His face is dark and untelling. Bucky snorts, trying to hide the sudden fear rushing through him at the thought of seeing his sister; at the thought of being locked away, becoming some lab experiment. _Figuring out what to do with you_ doesn’t sound good; it sounds like he's a mess they have to clean up. He’s something that needs to be dealt with. He should have gotten the witch to kill him when he had the chance.

“Sure, you should lock me up. Why give me my own room? Isn’t there a cage to put me in somewhere?” he practically spits, all venom and bite, his fangs burning in his gums where they beg to drop down from. He knows his cheeks are flushed from humiliation, knows he’s being unreasonable when all Steve has done is try to help him.

But he doesn’t want the help. He doesn’t want anyone’s help. He just wants it all to _stop._

Steve gives him a sad, assessing look. “I’ve been taken off your case. Whatever questions or requests you have should go to Natasha,” he says, and without another word and without even so much as a look over his shoulder, he’s leaving the room.

Bucky stares at the closed door for a long time before he picks up the key to inspect it. 

He can’t help but think about how good Steve felt last night. How they shared thoughts and feelings. How he felt like he knew Steve’s deepest soul from just the taste of his blood.

It’s all a lie. Whatever he felt, and whatever he feels is a lie. He can’t know what’s true anymore. He can’t trust Steve, and he definitely can’t trust himself.

~*~

Before long, he’s escorted to his new room. It’s a small one bedroom apartment a few floors below Steve’s. He’s given a short tour of the floor he is on, but it’s divided between a few rooms with a common area and another half of the floor he can’t access. As far as he’s aware, the other rooms are unoccupied. So they have essentially shoved him into a bigger cage than what he asked for with no one to talk to and no one to potentially hurt.

And no way to get out.

He learns that JARVIS controls the building and will be monitoring him. The only way to get off the floor is the emergency exit that has a staircase and the JARVIS-controlled elevator. The door to the staircase, of course, is locked unless there is an emergency. Even then, someone has to come get him before the door would unlock and the building has a state-of-the-art sprinkler system.

Figures.

Not that he has anywhere to _go,_ even if he could escape. He was just scouring around the city, avoiding people and following Steve around when he was free. He has no where to go, nothing to do. He’s likely to be imprisoned here for a while until they decide what to do with him. He can’t imagine the Avengers themselves will want to experiment on him, but he’s sure the government does. He shivers at the thought of being poked and prodded, what kind of future he’s likely going to be doomed to.

A small voice in the back of his head reminds him of Fury’s words, but he ignores them. He can’t trust any of these people. They may say he’s not in any serious trouble, but he doesn’t believe them for a second.

It’s not like they’re going to just let a monster _go._

He’s huddled up in a blanket, sitting on the couch in his new holding area when Natasha comes in. He ignores her, though there is nothing else to focus on. He finds no use to watching TV or reading. It’s not like eating human food would give him any sort of sustenance, and he’s barricaded from the outside world. There is nothing to do but sit and wait.

He’d started to feel the chill set in as soon as he was escorted out of Steve’s apartment. From his experience, he has a few days before he will start to feel hungry. And then a few days after that, he’ll start to starve. All the while his body digests and processes Steve's blood, he'll get colder and colder. Soon he'll be so cold he won't know what to do with himself. The hunger is a horrible, mind-numbing ache, but the cold he feels when he's hungry is something he could never wish on anyone.

He’s wondering if he attacks an agent, if they will do something about him. Will it just accelerate shipping him off to a lab to study? Will they force feed him? Finally put him down?

He’s weighing his options when Natasha finally speaks.

“Are you ignoring me because you're mad I took you away from Steve?” she asks, voice playful but Bucky can hear the bite beneath it. She doesn’t like him. He doesn’t have a hard time imagining why.

He drags his eyes slowly up at her. Is she mad at Steve? If she doesn’t like him, perhaps her and Steve disagree with how the Avengers should be handling him. Maybe he can push her to his benefit.

He thinks about attacking her, what she would do in response. He thinks about how upset Steve would be if she hurt Bucky, or if Bucky hurt her. 

Her green eyes are studying him. He’s yet to reply, but he doesn’t really know what to say.

“You didn’t take me away from Steve,” he eventually settles on, because that’s the truth. There was no _taking away._ They moved him to where he belongs. 

She’s curious about his response, and sits down on the couch across from him.

“And how is that?” she asks, reclining back into the sofa like she had in Steve’s apartment. He shrugs, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. The chill is setting in quicker than it had the last time he fed. Perhaps the stress accelerates digestion, or maybe since he went so long without eating his body is begging for more regular meals.

He's not going to let himself have any.

“It’s not like I was Steve’s to take,” he snips back.

A slow but sharp smirk spread across her mouth. He wants to look away; he feels like she knows something he doesn’t. He feels like she’s testing him and he’s failing, only he doesn’t know what he’s being testing on. It’s like a losing game.

“Really?” she asks, voice all nonchalance. “Doesn’t seem that way. Or maybe, if you’re not Steve’s, then Steve is yours, is that it?” she presses.

Her words confuse Bucky, and the surety she says them with strikes him as wrong.

“What are you talking about?” he asks before he thinks, before he assesses what this verbal game that they’re playing in is. He’s not one to play a chess game of discourse. He’s much too impatient for that.

But Agent Romanoff isn’t.

“I saw the traces of blood on the couch. You didn’t think we’d notice? How much healthier you look today? How Steve trails after your every whim like a lost puppy?”

He shakes his head.

“He told me to,” he replies, almost desperately, speaking the truth. Steve practically begged him to. Steve wanted to take care of him. Does she think he forced himself on Steve? Does she think he hurt him? She scoffs.

“Sure, _after_ you convinced him, right? You know, he’s never been so involved in a case before. What is it about you that makes you so special, hm?”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply, but finds he doesn’t have anything to say. This was what he was scared of, wasn’t it? He suspected that Steve was under his spell, despite that he doesn’t know what powers he may have or how to use them. And here is Natasha, confirming it all for him. Telling him how abnormal Steve’s behavior is. A concerned teammate, clearly trying to get Bucky to admit what he’s done.

Except he _didn't mean to._ He told Steve no, he told Steve he would hurt him. But Steve kept asking anyway, making it seem like it was no big deal. He made it seem like Bucky's hunger was more important than any discomfort. And they had supervision, didn't they? And Steve was—Steve felt so _happy_ and _good._ He had kissed him so deeply, with so much passion burning in his veins.

But that wasn't real, wasn't it? That's what she's telling him; that his suspicions are true. That he's some sort of monster that has power over people, that _manipulates_ people. That he's manipulated Steve, twisted away his free will, making Steve bend to his every whim. He's disgusted with himself. 

She raises a tweezed brow at him and he’s moving before he can make a conscious decision of it. He’s in her face, and he knows she’s good—she wouldn’t be Black Widow if she wasn’t—because he’s leaning over her, hand pressed into the back of the sofa, and she’s staring up at him with wide eyes while the mouth of her gun presses directly under his chin. Her reflexes are fast; he hadn't even seen her move. But fast reflexes are what he _wants._ He doesn't want her to hesitate.

“Why don’t you tell me, hm? What have I done to dear old Steve?” he asks her, voice low and teasing but dangerous, eyes sharp. She looks scared, but like she’s doing her best to hide it. He presses against the gun, leaning into it. “Do you want to know? How many times he asked me to sink my teeth in? How hard he held onto me? How good he felt? You want to know what I said to him, to get him to want it? Why don’t you see for yourself, sweetheart,” he growls, staring at her with such intensity.

He puts all of his feelings into it, willing it so. If he has any sort of power, any sort of influence, _anything_ , surely this must be how to use it, isn’t it? There are no mantras, no special potions, no magical hand gestures. It’s all mental, like how he could feel Steve’s pleasure just by sinking his teeth into his flesh. He has to want it, and he has to think it.

"Don't you want a little bite? It'll feel so good, I promise. Just a little pinch and then—euphoria," he seethes, the lies bitter on his tongue but he forces them out anyway.

He’s an actor playing a part, destroying any salvageable opportunities to get her to trust him. She’ll never be on his side after this. She may even kill him, if he presses hard enough.

Good, he thinks. He just has to press harder, then.

“You want to know how good he tastes?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, but makes sure to show off his dropped fangs with a smile. She cranks back the safety from the gun, eyes wide. It tells Bucky all he needs to know, but he’s not sure if he’s ready to face the reality.

That if he did have any kind of powers over people, to persuade them or manipulate them, surely they would be working on Natasha right now. Surely, she wouldn't have the wherewithal to still be defending herself against him.

 _”Excuse me, but Captain Rogers and Miss Barnes are heading into the elevator at this moment. They will arrive in less than two minutes,_ ” JARVIS cuts in.

Bucky is off her in an instance, his back to her as he stares at the window. His impulsive plans have backfired. She made no move against him, and he just destroyed any semblance of trust or believability. But that's fine; he's proving a point. At some point or another, they have to come to this realization.

But he's sure Natasha will tell them all. He can’t bear to look his sister in the eye.

“I don’t want to see them,” he says, keeping his voice level. He hears Natasha stand up.

“ _Unfortunately, Master Barnes, I cannot prevent them from entering the common area. However, only Agent Romanova has the clearance to override your request to be let alone in your private quarters,”_ JARVIS informs him. 

He turns to the Black Widow, but instead of seeing the scared woman he had been towering over a few moments ago, instead he sees a woman sure of herself and utterly indifferent to Bucky’s presence. 

She’s fixing her gun, and she glances up to look him in the eyes.

“I think I have everything I need to know,” she says, and for a moment Bucky thinks she’s going to shoot him, or maybe that she’s referring to how he attacked her, how she’s confirmed how dangerous he is.

Instead she holds up her gun and goes to dispel the magazine except nothing comes out.

Her gun wasn’t loaded.

She quirks her brow at him before taking a magazine from her back pocket and loading her gun. She then tucks it behind her, presumably in a hidden holster. He’s—well, he’s confused. Was this all a game? Was it all for show?

“You’re not as good as an actor as you think,” she tells him with a small smirk. Before he can reply, the elevator doors are opening and he’s looking over to see Steve and—

Becca’s crying already, tears streaming down her face. She gasps, and then runs toward him. He doesn’t have time to think, too stunned to consider running away, or jumping after Natasha, or _anything_ to keep his sister from getting close to him.

“Bucky!” she’s crying, pulling him into her arms. He’s frozen, not able to get his body to move while he’s embraced, Becca pressing her crying face to his chest. His arms are dangling at his sides, feeling more hollow than he has during this entire time.

How can she touch him? Didn’t they warn her?

Fury bubbles inside him, but Steve is walking over to Natasha where they share a look, and then the two of them are sitting down on the couch together. Becca is pulling back from him, one hand reaching up to rub tears out of her eyes while Bucky continues to stand there like an asshole with no idea what he’s doing.

“Buck?” she asks, looking up at him. Steve and Natasha are watching him.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to _do._ Every time he tries to show these people how dangerous he is—every time he gives them _proof,_ they just ignore him. They _laugh_ at him.

They don’t take him seriously.

But if he were to hurt his own sister, that would prove it, wouldn’t it? That would show them; show them they need to stop trusting him. Show them they need to _deal with him._

He raises his hand, settles it on her shoulder where it drags up to cup her neck. He’s not even a bit hungry, and the thought of feeding from his sister makes him feel sick to his stomach. Hell, the thought of harming her at all makes his heart hurt. 

She doesn’t look scared. Did they not tell her? Did they not even warn her that they’re leading her to a monster?

He grips the back of her neck and curses his shaking fingers. She looks so hurt already, but instead of fear her eyes look on him with concern and heartbreak. He didn’t even have to touch her to hurt her; he’s already hurt her so much.

He can't do it—he _knows_ he can’t do it. It's the stupidest thought in the world. He can't even hug her, let alone physically harm her. He’s just so _mad_ at these people. He’s so mad they won’t just do what’s right; do what he’s asking them to.

“Bucky, I'm not scared of you,” Becca says to him, quiet and gentle. He squeezes his eyes shut, not able to look at her.

He bows his head low, eyes squeezed shut so tightly it hurts. His hand gripped at the back of her neck is shaking, and it feels like there is so much anxiety and emotion fluttering inside of him that his skin is going to burst open just to let it all out. She’s quiet, and patient, but he can’t do it. He just can’t.

“I’m _sorry,_ ” he rasps, and before she can say anything, he’s turning with his back to her and retreating to his room.

He is a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Natasha was testing Bucky because she's come to the realization that he is just putting on a show and isn't actually dangerous at all. While she is pissed at Steve for falling over his dick for Bucky, she no longer sees him as a threat. This was just to confirm to her, and ultimately Bucky, that he really isn't dangerous.
> 
> thank you for reading! tell me what you think? is it too angsty? am i indulging myself too much? i've never written vampire dynamics before so i'd love to know if you dig my take on it or not!
> 
> [come scream at me on tumblr](https://thiccbuckybarnesfic.tumblr.com/)


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